A Family Dynamic
by Tallis224
Summary: New "Ducks in a Row" Prequel. The year is 1972 and our favorite young doctor heads to America to pop the question to his beloved Celeste. But will he pass muster with the Porter family? Will he survive the first meeting?  AU Ducky/OFC. In progress.
1. Chapter 1

This is a sequel to four of my other stories: _The Beginning: Ducky's Side; The Beginning: Celeste's Side; Book Learning _and_ Parents, Panties and Propriety._

It is the prequel to two: _Foreshadow _and _Ducks In A Row_

If you have followed the adventures of Ducky and Celeste before, you know what happened when she met his parents. This time, it's his turn to meet the fam. Not quite _Seventh Heaven_, or _Leave it to Beaver._ Closer to _Family Ties_. Maybe…

Please bear with me, as this isn't finished yet. I've got a massive case of writer's block and am not sure where we're going. I'm going to put it up anyway, partly to motivate myself to finish and partly because I feel as though I should do something with it after watching it languish for nearly a year. And a few of you said they'd like to see a little more of Ducky and Celeste.

Thanks to Aunt Kitty who is officially my long distance beta reader and butt-kicker (if I don't finish this, she will find a way to kick said butt all the way from her home in the desert to my home on the north coast…yes, the U.S. has a north coast…check your atlas…). Thanks are also extended to RoseLight for many kind, encouraging compliments. And for also living on the north coast.

This is the story of a much younger Ducky than we see on _NCIS._ It is set in 1972. The war in Viet Nam was raging on. Protests against the war (and the draft – the military was NOT a volunteer force then, as it is today) were common on college campuses. Gasoline was about forty cents a gallon and things were still psychedelic. Rock was transitioning from acid rock to metal. And the sexual revolution was in full swing.

This story is rated M for a reason.

Disclaimer: I lay no claim to _NCIS_ or any characters thereon, particularly Dr. Donald Mallard. However, Celeste Porter, the Porter family, Oliver Johnston, and most of the characters in this story _are_ mine. I made them up. No one to blame for them but me…

Please feel free to comment, review, make suggestions, moan, complain…whatever. If you enjoy the story, so much the better!

Thanks for reading!

A Family Dynamic

by Tallis224

_July, 1972_

Chapter One

After sixteen hours in surgery, Doctor Donald "Ducky" Mallard was more than simply tired. He was exhausted, filthy, soaked in sweat, tired of the smell of blood and antiseptic. This, his second tour of duty in Viet Nam had found him in a American Mobile Army Medical Hospital unit, closer to the guns, the mines, the action – the death – than he ever wanted to be.

All he wanted to do now was take a shower and have a stiff drink of any mind-numbing liquid he could get his hands on. He knew the shower would be cold – it always was. Usually that was fine because he was always thinking of Celeste and the shower served to dampen the inevitable manifestation of those thoughts. But he was so tired, so burned out right now that he doubted he could get it up, even for her. _The _girl, _the_ one. And fourteen months away was far too long.

Celeste was back in the States now, at home in Michigan. Her year of study in London, where they'd met, had ended shortly after his departure overseas. She was always sending little cards and photographs, poems she'd written and little trinkets she was sure he'd like. He was the envy of most of the staff, not only because of the regularity of his mail, but because, as his tent-mate Mick Anderson said often of Celeste's photos, she was "One Fine Woman."

He was stripping out of his scrubs when Sergeant Dunn approached with a clipboard. "Doctor Mallard, sir?"

"Yes? Something I need to sign? Did I forget a death certificate?"

"No, sir. The CO wants to see you in his office."

Ducky nodded his head. "Fine. Give me a chance to clean up a bit. Tell him I'll be there in a moment."

"Yes sir." Dunn left.

_Damn!_ thought Ducky. _What did I screw up now? _

Colonel Bekins was a stickler for everything. His demands were difficult for everyone in the camp, though Ducky usually managed to avoid his wrath by being as thorough as possible. But things inevitably fell through the cracks and Ducky had been reamed out more than once by the hard-nosed unit commander.

Ducky's big advantage was that the Colonel liked to play chess and Ducky was the best chess player in the 6023rd. Maybe that's what Bekins wanted. After sixteen hours in surgery, the Colonel probably thought he could beat him…

Hair still damp from its impromptu wash at the scrub sink, Ducky knocked at the Colonel's office door. It was wickedly humid and air circulation in the office compound was virtually non-existent.

"Come in!"

Ducky entered the office and was immediately caught in the cross-breeze of two electric fans. It was a small relief. His olive drab tee shirt was still plastered to his chest by a dark stain of sweat. The Colonel was examining a sheaf of papers, pen in hand. He put his signature on two of them, pushed them forward on his desk, then looked up at the young surgeon.

"Doctor Mallard. Have a seat. I understand you just received a field promotion to the rank of Major? Congratulations!"

Ducky sat down in the indicated chair. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." He'd gotten notice of the promotion about a week before. Two months earlier, two British doctors had died driving over a land mine on their way to an aid station. Ducky had volunteered to take their place and had driven through hostile territory to give much needed to relief to the field medics. He spent ten days giving acute care to both military and civilian casualties in the most primitive conditions imaginable. As a result, he had received a commendation and now a promotion.

"You know what that does to your point rotation?"

Colonel Bekins looked as though he expected a reply, but Ducky was so exhausted that he could only say, "Sir?"

"Grab your gear, Mallard. Your transport should be here in two hours."

"Transport?" Ducky tried to grasp what he was being told but it wasn't sinking in.

"Your orders, man! Your travel dispatch. You're going home! Lucky Ducky! Back to your bonnie lassie."

Still uncomprehending, Ducky corrected the CO. "She's in the States, Sir."

Bekins shook his head. "Well then, I suggest you hop a plane once you've finished your discharge debriefing. I always felt sorry for you, Mallard. Because of her you'd hang around with us old married men, keep the pretty nurses at bay when they threw themselves at you. Stayed as true as a man can be. She must be something. Really something."

"Yes Sir," Ducky replied quietly, a smile slowly spreading across his face. It was finally sinking in. "Yes, Sir. She really is." The reality trickling through the exhaustion. "Celeste!"

"Pretty name. Here are your orders." The Colonel handed him the packet of papers. "Too bad we don't have time for a final game of chess, Ducky. I think I might just whup your ass this time."

Now Ducky was grinning. He was going home – to Celeste! Granted, he'd never been to Michigan before. Granted, he had no idea how to get there. But that was where Celeste was and, by God, that was where he was going!

He stood up, made a final salute to his CO and said, "I highly doubt it, Sir. Because you are a bloody lousy chess player!" He turned and stepped into the outer office.

"WHOO HOO!" He ran outdoors and covered the distance to his tent in record time.

The only thing he could think of was Celeste. And he realized he wasn't quite as tired as he had originally thought. He had time for one last very cold shower.

The trip back to London proved to be arduous. A twenty-two hour layover in Hong Kong, however, gave Ducky a chance to make plans for the trip from London to the States, and by doing so, tentative plans for the rest of his life. He would request inactive status instead of resigning his commission. That would permit certain benefits that outright resignation would not. He could opt for resignation later if he wished, but he wanted to be able to avail himself of very cheap military transportation right now. He did have a savings account, but he knew it would be all he had after telling his parents his plans. And he needed to have something to live on while he found himself a position somewhere in America. Somewhere close to Celeste.

While in Hong Kong he stayed at a hotel that catered to British Military personnel. To him it was a place to flop – just to catch a few hours sleep and set some plans in motion. He stowed his gear, checked the time. He had to be out at 0800 hours tomorrow to get to the airport. It was 1330 hours. He had a bit of time to look around and catch a bite to eat.

Ducky thought he would take a quick walk after lunch to work off a bit of the tension. That was when he saw it out of the corner of his eye in the window of a shop. He stopped, looked and smiled. There it was. _The _ring. The only ring that would ever suit Celeste. Two delicate yellow gold bands twined around each other. In each band was set a beautiful blue sapphire, their shared birthstone, in a bypass design. Between the blue stones was set a single champagne colored diamond.

It was beautiful. It was unconventional. It was Celeste. Ducky haggled with the shopkeeper for over fifteen minutes, then walked out three-hundred fifty pounds poorer and happier than he'd been in months. He had no idea when he'd give it to her, but at least he had it now. He slipped the box into his left shirt pocket, nearest his heart. Playing the sentimental fool for Celeste made him smile. Admitting to himself that he was hopelessly in love had been difficult, but now that that bridge had been crossed, everything else had fallen into place.

He continued exploring the bustling city, enjoying the exotic sights, sounds and smells. He loved traveling to new and different locales and very much wished Celeste were with him now to share the experience. He touched his shirt pocket, felt the hard cube of the ring box and sighed. There were so many things to look forward to.

When he got back to the room, he took a shower and got ready for bed. Clean skivvies, clean sheets, a real bed. For the first time in fourteen months he was going to sleep in a real bed in a room with real walls and no artillery fire outside. And he was alone, which had advantages – and disadvantages when he thought about actually sharing the bed. With Celeste.

In London they hadn't actually slept together. They'd _fallen_ asleep together a few times out of exhaustion from her work, her studying or Ducky working too many consecutive hours in the emergency department at St. Margaret Mercy Hospital. _Watching her sleep was such a lovely thing… _This particular memory had sustained him during the most difficult periods of the past fourteen months.

Unfortunately, Celeste was only eighteen and felt that she was not emotionally ready for sex. They had spoken quite frankly about it. She was very focused on getting her degree in literature. And deep down inside, she confessed, she was terrified of getting pregnant, even though the Pill was easily available. She wasn't quite to the point where she was comfortable with making such a huge (to her) commitment. Ducky also suspected an underlying fire-and-brimstone guilt brought about by her upbringing, but that wasn't always evident.

It was hell on him at times, though, especially when Celeste wanted to experiment. And she was quite fearless about experimenting. She had a mental/emotional line that she wouldn't cross until she was ready – and the line kept changing positions. She read a lot and got her hands on an amazing number of very – instructional (and explicit) – books. Ducky didn't realize just how full of surprises she could be until one night…oh God! She said she was following the instructions illustrated in some erotic best-selling how-to manual. Even showed him the chapter – after the fact. He had to admit that she followed instructions VERY well. And now that she knew how and was quite happy to repeat the performance as necessary, well, it had taken a bit of the pressure off. He was not about to discourage her, because, damn it, she was phenomenal.

Why did he have to go and think of that? Sleep would not be easy at this rate. He stared at the ceiling, willing the stiffness away without success. He wondered what she was doing at that moment, wondered how she would react to seeing him again. He was quite certain he knew how HE would react seeing her. It was happening now.

When exhaustion finally claimed him, he slept fitfully.

5


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Ducky's business in London took three days. Appointments and evaluations at the offices of the Army Medical Corps. Incessant paperwork to read, sign and copy. A trip to the American Embassy for a travel visa. A less than pleasant telephone call to his parents…

Father had reacted exactly as Ducky had expected. If Ducky insisted on being foolish enough to run after a flighty young girl, regardless how pretty she was he could expect no help from his father. Mother was wounded, and agreed with Father. Her Donald was being foolish. She could offer no more than her affection. Ducky knew he was on his own financially. Well, he could manage if he was careful.

Ducky made arrangements with his friend Francis Marsden to ship his belongings to America when he finally found a place to stay. Then he and Francis went out and got roaring drunk one last time. (After all, Francis insisted, Ducky was no longer a free man. Once he got to America, he was as good as married.) Not the wisest thing to do the night before one goes flying on a military transport plane. Ducky was quite dehydrated when he got to the Azores.

From the Azores Ducky flew to Newfoundland, from there to Boston where he finally had to get a commercial flight to Detroit. He had been traveling over 72 hours and hadn't managed to change clothes, shower or shave in the intervening time. He was exhausted, jet lagged, wasn't terribly sure what day of the week it was or even what time his own body clock thought it was. He wore a rumpled set of jungle camouflage fatigues, army boots and a flack vest. He had a three-day stubble of beard and he knew he looked like hell-warmed-over. But all he could think of was his objective: Celeste Elizabeth Porter, 54 Morton Avenue, Clinton Park, Michigan.

When he arrived at Detroit Metropolitan Airport he got a map of the area and talked to a young man in the information kiosk who told Ducky the bus routes he needed to take to get to Clinton Park. Clinton Park was northeast of Detroit and the airport was southwest. In a car it would take a good 45 minutes to cover the distance, by bus it would be hours. But Ducky was undeterred. It was the cheapest and best way for him to go. And saving money was now his secondary objective.

Ducky made sure he had enough change for fares and transfers. He toyed with the idea of phoning Celeste but rejected it. He really wanted to surprise her.

As Ducky got on what he hoped would be the last bus he'd need to board, he asked the driver how well he knew Clinton Park.

"Very well, since I live there," the driver replied.

"Morton Avenue? How would I get there?"

"I can drop you at the corner of Gratiot and Welburn. Go a block east on Welburn and the first left is Morton. The church is on the corner. You can't miss it."

"Is that near number 54?" Ducky asked.

"That's the parsonage. You looking for Pastor Porter?"

"You know him?"

"I should. I've gone to Atonement all my life. He's been pastor there for the past fifteen years. He's a super guy. Tell him George Knoff says hello and I'll see him tomorrow!"

"Thank you Mr. Knoff." Ducky sat down in the front seat across from the driver.

George kept glancing at him with a small smile. "You're English?" he finally asked.

"From Scotland. Educated in England and Scotland. I can do a brogue if you'd rather. I lapse sometimes if I'm especially tired. Like now."

"Wouldn't know," George shrugged. "But you're a doctor, right?"

Ducky frowned slightly. How would the driver know that? He had no insignia on his clothing or any other indication that he was a physician. "Yes," he finally replied.

George grinned. "Well, I suspect someone at the parsonage will be very glad to see you, then. She's a pistol, that girl. Always has been."

Ducky felt his cheeks redden. "Celeste?"

"That's her! All she does is talk about you. She says prayers every Sunday that you'll be brought home safe." George held out his right hand to Ducky. "I'm glad they were answered, sir. And doubly glad for little Celeste."

Ducky was deeply moved by this revelation. "Thank you, Mr. Knoff."

"Call me 'George.'"

"Call me 'Ducky' then." He smiled and shook George's hand, beginning to like the informality and friendliness of this new country that he hoped he would soon be calling home.

The bus dropped Ducky at the corner of Gratiot and Welburn . He walked down the block George had indicated. The bags he had carted halfway around the world suddenly felt heavier than ever. Through his exhaustion, Ducky felt the flutter of anticipation in his gut. He was very, very nervous. He was about to meet Celeste's family, after all.

_They probably won't like me,_ he thought as he hitched his bags up on his shoulder.

2


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The church was constructed of wooden clapboards, painted white and shining in the late afternoon sun. The spire was tall and graceful as it reached into the blue summer sky. Behind the church stretched a low brick building.

The sign in front announced "Welcome to Atonement Lutheran Church and Christian Day School, Carl Porter, Pastor. Sunday Services 8:30AM and 11:00AM. Sunday School 9:30AM. Wednesday Evening Summer Services 7:30PM. This Sunday's Sermon: Where is Your Head At?"

Ducky recalled dimly that today was Saturday. Logic would dictate that there would be little to no activity at the church, but the parking area contained a number of cars and people were coming and going to and from what must be the school building. Next to the school were some playing fields, one of which was being used by people playing some strange version of cricket. Baseball, he corrected. A large white clapboard house stood just in front of the field, near the church.

He approached it, then stopped, dumping both bags on the lawn just next to the driveway. Ducky stood frozen in place, heart pounding with anxiety. What would he say? What if Celeste wasn't home? He looked like hell, had a three day old beard and probably smelled like yesterdays socks.

What was he thinking, coming here like this? What kind of impression did he expect to make on her parents looking as he did now?

"Knock it off, Mark, or I swear to you I'm gonna dump this jell-o right over your head!" a familiar voice bellowed as a boy of about 13 bolted out the side door holding a spoon and a plastic container. He shot down the porch steps and stopped short when he saw Ducky. Behind him, carrying a yellow bowl, came a vision. Celeste – the perfect vision of – annoyance – was ready to catch and kill her youngest brother. She reached the boy, stopped, then turned her gaze in the direction that Mark was facing.

Her hair had grown long. It fell around her shoulders in brown waves. She wore a dark blue tee shirt with MICHIGAN written across the chest in gold letters. That beautiful chest. She also wore a pair of white, very short shorts, which emphasized the shapeliness of her legs. She was even more perfect than he remembered.

Ducky saw the disbelief register on her face, then turn to shock and finally to a huge, beautiful smile. "Oh my God!" Celeste shouted. "DUCKY!"

She dropped the bowl spilling its contents, and started running, but Ducky had a several stride head start. He grabbed her, spun her around in an embrace, picked her up and carried her up the steps to the porch where their progress was stopped by the wall of the house. He pressed his mouth to hers hungrily and Celeste reciprocated with equal fervor. The reality of her kiss far surpassed what he had spent fourteen months imagining. She tasted like strawberries, smelled like jasmine.

He pressed her harder against the wall. Her legs were wrapped around him, her back supported by the wall. A little gasp and sigh from Celeste told him that she appreciated his welcome. Ducky's left hand slid slowly under her tee shirt and traveled up until his hand covered her breast, teased the nipple that hardened immediately at his touch. Celeste's hand slid down his back, slipped under his belt and past his skivvies, lightly coming to rest on the curve of his ass, light as a feather, a sensuous flutter. He moaned and plunged his tongue deeper into her mouth.

"Celeste," Ducky whispered as they broke apart for a moment. "Dear God, I've missed you."

She cupped her free hand gently against face his and grinned through tears. "I think I figured that out, Mallard." She pressed her mouth to his again.

If seconds or hours passed Ducky wasn't sure, but he gradually became aware that he and Celeste were not alone. Someone else – no, more than one other person, was nearby witnessing this reunion.

Celeste slowly placed her feet back on the floor and extracted her hand from his undershorts. She gradually pulled away from the kiss.

"Daddy!" she gasped. Ducky quickly pulled his hand out from beneath her shirt. She tugged the shirt down and grabbed her sweetheart's hand, lacing her fingers firmly with his. "This is Ducky."

Carl Porter stood on the top step, arms folded, expression unreadable. "I surmised that. Mark told us you had a visitor."

Mark was capering about on the lawn below the porch. "I didn't think they were ever coming up for air, Dad. I think you saved their lives!"

"So help me God," Celeste muttered so low only Ducky could hear her, "I am going to kill that little smartass someday." Ducky gave a quick snort of laughter.

Years of training in the proper way to make introductions kicked in automatically, however. "Pastor Porter. An honor to meet you, sir." Ducky extended his right hand. "Celeste has told me so much about you."

"Indeed?" Porter shook the offered hand in a very professional, almost clinical manner. "Given what I've just witnessed, I'm surprised she was able to say anything at all."

It was now abundantly clear to Ducky where Celeste's sarcasm came from.

"Daddy!"

Pastor Porter gave his daughter a stern look. He then faced Ducky. "We are all thankful to God that he has brought you safely to our home, away from war and the evils of war, Doctor Mallard. And I am also grateful for my daughter's happiness. Her worry was difficult for all of us."

"I'll say!" Mark chimed in. "She bit EVERYBODY'S head off – even Grummie's!"

"Oh, Markie, it wasn't that bad!" A tiny, grey-haired woman came through the screen door onto the porch. "My grandson is given to exaggeration, Doctor Mallard. He'll either be a journalist or a lawyer someday. I'm Elizabeth Schechter, Celeste's grandmother." She hugged Ducky and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Welcome to the United States. And to Clinton Park. And to the Schechter-Porter family reunion. You picked quite a day to arrive!"

"Reunion?" Ducky became aware of more people clustering around the side porch, staring at him. He still had his arm around Celeste. He turned to face her. "What?"

"Just smile and wave, Ducky. Don't let them sense the fear or they'll turn on you." Celeste gave him peck on the cheek. "Of course they may have come just to see the show."

What appeared to be several dozen faces were turned toward them. "How many people are here?"

"Last count? About fifty-five including kids. And dinner's not for another hour. Gruppie's still grilling the chicken. We always get stragglers."

"Elizabeth?" Carl Porter addressed his mother-in-law. "Is Dottie in the house?"

"Yes I am," came a voice from the doorway, "And wondering at the commotion. And now I see. This must be the much beloved Ducky."

The door burst open revealing a blonde girl of about ten standing in front of a woman who could only be Celeste's mother. Dottie Porter was the same height and the same brown eyes peered out from behind wire-framed glasses. She smiled at Ducky, then did the same thing her mother had done: presented him with a hug and a kiss.

The little girl had other ideas, however. She eyed Ducky up and down, then declared, "I don't like him. He's stinky."

"Jessica!" Celeste looked apologetically at Ducky. "You have no idea how fortunate you are to be an only child." She smiled and kissed him quickly on the lips. "I don't care a bit. I kinda like the scruffy look. Leave it to the blonde changeling to comment. She isn't ours. I'm convinced my real sister was swapped out with some other kid."

"I was not!" Jessica wailed.

Ducky looked at the little girl. "Hey, Jessica. If you can find an Atlas or world map, I can show you all the places I've been in the past ten days and you'll understand why I haven't had much time to take a shower."

Jessica just looked at him with her nose wrinkled.

"It was a really long trip. There aren't any showers on airplanes, you know."

"Then take a boat next time." She flounced down the steps.

"Okay. That just took 'relates well to children' off my list of things I hoped you were good at." Celeste sighed and looked at Ducky with sympathy. "Four Porters down. One to go. And here he is." A beat up old Dodge Dart swung wide into the driveway, almost rolling over Ducky's bags. It screeched to a halt dangerously close to the bumper of a black station wagon. A tall, skinny kid with long brown hair got out of the driver's seat.

"Celeste! You are NOT gonna believe the deal Ollie got on that used sound system and the amps. He almost got the guy to throw in an old sound board, but he wouldn't go for it." He stopped when he noticed all the people gathered on and around the porch, staring at Celeste and Ducky.

"Hey Sis. What's growin' out of your hip? Looks like a guy!"

Celeste grinned. "It is. Very observant, Alan. This is Ducky!"

"It's about time we finally met him." Alan bolted up the steps. "It is really cool to meet you, man! My sister is so obsessed with you. Maybe she'll shut up now."

"You shoulda seen him keepin' her quiet awhile ago, Al," chortled Mark. "I thought he was gonna suck her face off. Woulda been an improvement."

"Mark! Enough!" Carl Porter's commanding voice rang out, reprimanding his son. "Let's go help your grandfather with the barbecue! Now!" Mark looked at his father, then trotted off quickly. Porter gave a look back over his shoulder, then followed his son in the direction of the smoke.

Celeste and Alan looked at each other. "Reprieve!" they declared in unison.

"I sense paternal unhappiness," Alan stage-whispered to Celeste. "On a scale monumental."

"Very cogent observation for a seventeen year old stoner," she whispered back.

"Not fair, Celeste. I've been on the wagon all week. Not going to promise what goes down after the family has left and the guys come over to practice…you got any Oreos?"

Smiling, Celeste ruffled her brother's hair. "You are so weird, Alan."

Ducky took the opportunity to draw Celeste closer again, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then whispered "What have I gotten myself into exactly?"

Celeste turned to face him again, draping her arms around his neck. "Oh, Sweets, you have placed your army boots right into the center of a steaming pile. You have been deposited into the midst of the Family de Loon. I'd have warned you, but I didn't know you were coming." She pressed her nose against his. In his weakened condition, Ducky took the bait and kissed her again, knowing full well there was an audience.

"That is just so weird, watching some guy Frenching your sister. In front of your whole family."

Celeste pulled away for a moment. "Al. Fourteen months. Your hair didn't take that long to grow out after Dad said you could grow it. Shut up!" Celeste and Ducky resumed the task at hand.

"Alan, why don't you take Ducky's bags to the guest room?" Dottie Porter placed a hand on Ducky's arm, breaking the reverie. "Let's take it inside, shall we, kids?"

5


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Dottie Porter directed Celeste and Ducky into the house.

The kitchen was large. The appliances and wall covering were an odd green color. Food and containers full of food seemed to cover every surface. Pots steamed on the stove. A fan was in the window trying to vent out the heat, but there was too much for it to make much impact. It had to be at least 100 degrees Fahrenheit and for Ducky it was a sudden and almost painful throwback to the jungles he had just left.

"Hot in here!" he said pulling away from Celeste, suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

"Sorry." Dottie apologized. "We're getting everything ready for the dinner and there wasn't enough room in the church kitchen so we're using this as an overflow."

Ducky nodded. "I see." His chest was constricting. He wondered if there was some kind of allergen or other in the air. His breathing became shallower, his heart started racing and he felt flush.

"Ducky? Are you all right?" Celeste looked at him, brow furrowed with concern.

"Fine. I'm just tired, sweetheart. I'll feel better after a rest and a shower, I'm sure."

"And you probably need to eat something, too." Elizabeth came up the basement stairs carrying a small wrench. "All set, Dottie." She nodded at her daughter.

Alan stumbled through the kitchen door half-dragging Ducky's bags. "Hey man, what have you got in these things? Bricks?" He dumped them on the floor in front of the young doctor.

Ducky hoisted them. They seemed even heavier than they had. He smiled at Alan. "Just a few essentials, mate. Thank you for bringing them in."

"Do you need me to carry something?" Celeste asked. "Your room is on the third floor."

"I'll manage, Love. Just show me where to stow this."

"You're lucky, Ducky-man," Alan commented as he followed the others up the stairs. "The guest room has air conditioning. And," he poked Celeste in the back, "a double bed."

"Alan…" Dottie warned.

The second floor hallway had a variety of doors on either side. "This is mom and dad's room. They've got air conditioning, too. The rest of us have to suffer in the swelter. Did you know that it builds character?"

"Well, I must have a good amount of character, then. You have no idea what swelter is, Alan. Believe me. It'll be nice sleep in a bed I don't have to check for snakes before I get into it. Or to check my boots for them before I put them on."

"Wow! That sounds intense!" Alan looked surprised by Ducky's comment and Celeste, alarmed.

"It was." Ducky's voice crackled with exhaustion.

Alan paused in front of one of the open doors and pointed in. "You may want to make note of this particular room, Doctor M. It's Celeste's. You'll note it's a straight shot down the third floor stairs, right around the corner. Ideal for clandestine meetings…"

Ducky grinned at Celeste who blushed furiously. "I like your brother."

He peered through the door. Ducky saw a tie-dyed bedspread and curtains, posters of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, a peace sign, Snoopy. A desk piled high with books, a portable manual typewriter, a picture of him in his uniform, another of the two of them together in London, looking cozy and happy. Three mobiles dangled from the ceiling, one of winged dragons, another of eyeballs and a third an abstract Alexander Caulder flavored piece. A cat was asleep on the bed, along with a dog-eared copy of "Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers." It reminded him of her room in London.

"That's yours all right." He smiled at her through the weariness. The tightness in his chest was easing a bit, though.

They continued to the third floor. The air conditioner had just been turned on and hadn't had time to deliver much impact. The whole third floor was more of a suite than a guest room. Not only was there a very comfortable looking bedroom, there was also a small bathroom with a shower stall. A wardrobe, dresser and several full bookshelves completed the decor. Dormer windows brought in light and gave the room a larger feel. The ceilings were low. Despite the coziness, Ducky felt his chest constrict again.

"Let me know if you need anything, Ducky." Dottie turned to leave. "Miss Celeste, Doctor Mallard, I'm going to trust you alone for a few minutes. Alan, let's go!"

Ducky put his gear on the floor at the foot of the bed. Celeste put her arms around his waist and gave him a quick kiss.

"I'll leave you to settle in and freshen up. Then maybe my sister will like you better. My God, Donnie Mallard! You've really lost weight! I'll see if I can't get a sandwich for you. There's food everywhere so I should be able to come up with something." Celeste started to leave, but Ducky pulled her back into a kiss that he hoped left little doubt of what would be a nice diversion later, choosing to illustrate key points with his gifted hands.

They finally broke apart. "You are such a randy bastard," she whispered, smiling.

"Do you blame me?" His look was all innocence. "Jesus, Celeste, fourteen months without you and I see you now in shorts and a tight shirt and you expect me to keep my hands to myself? Impossible!"

"Well, Daddy expects it. Just because he wandered off doesn't mean the subject is closed. It hasn't even begun. He is pissed beyond belief. There's about to be an explosion the likes of which has not been witnessed in the Great Lakes State since the Big Bang!"

"I doubt that he'll be completely unreasonable, Celeste. After all, he deals with all sorts of things and people as part of his profession. We'll just discuss it rationally."

"You didn't just catch a thirty-one year old British army doctor with his hand up your nineteen year old daughter's shirt, either. He's NOT going to be rational, Ducky. He's going to be Daddy."

"Did 'Daddy' happen to notice where YOUR hand was? It was inching forward, I noticed. Catching _that_ would have been very embarrassing."

"You'd have thrown a block, Sweets. Because YOU know better. Which is precisely what Daddy expects – decorum and respectability." Celeste hugged him and Ducky wrapped his arms around her in response.

"Does 'Daddy' have any idea how much I love you, Celeste?"

"You can always try to explain. Explain it to me, too, while you're at it!"

"You're a smart girl, Celeste. Once I get you into that bed, you'll figure it out." His hand found its way past her shorts and into the lacy bikini panties she was wearing.

She gasped. "By the way. After fourteen months of reflection, introspection and forced celibacy, I am VERY ready to go to the next level."

"Now?" Ducky could hardly believe his good fortune! "Just give me a minute to find the condoms…"

"Unfortunately no, my love. Mom is likely to send up a posse in a few minutes to check on us. Being caught in the act is not something I want to deal with right now. But soon. Somewhere we can be alone for as long as we want. I promise." She drew him into a sweet, gentle kiss that held more passion than any kiss Ducky had ever experienced.

It was more than worth it, waiting for her.

Celeste left him alone so he'd have an opportunity to freshen up before dinner and a renewed onslaught of relatives. He stepped into the cold water of the shower, expecting it to warm up a bit, but it didn't. God knows he needed a cold shower, and it wasn't that he was unaccustomed to them. But a bit of warm water would have been nice. It would have been helpful while he shaved, too. He'd have to mention it to Celeste's mother. Then he remembered Grummie Elizabeth coming up from the basement. With a wrench.

It was a conspiracy!

What the hell was he getting into?

4


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Sweets! You look beautiful!" Celeste grinned as Ducky came down the stairs into the living room. "Civvies! That must feel good!" He had changed into a pair of jeans, a short sleeved plaid shirt and had traded the army boots for a pair of well-worn high-top sneakers.

"Oh, Love. You have no idea." He scooped her into a hug and they both stood holding each other, drinking each other in. Celeste had pulled her hair back and clasped it at the nape of her neck with a tooled leather barrette. She was still wearing the white shorts but had changed into a floaty white cotton peasant smock embroidered in shades of blue and green.

"By the way," he said, nuzzling her ear, "you're the one that looks beautiful."

"You've been too long away, my love, but thank you!"

"Well, you DO clean up nicely, Ducky! Your pictures don't do you justice, either." Dottie Porter smiled. "He really DOES look like that TV spy guy, Celeste."

"Yes, Mother. He does."

"Well, I know love is grand and all, but I need you two to help me get the food out to the church hall. Do you mind helping, Ducky? I know it's a lot to throw at you but everyone pitches in here in Porterland."

"Of course, Mrs. Porter. I'll be happy to help in any way I can."

"I'm Dottie. And thank you! By the way, how was the shower, Ducky?" she asked with a tiny smirk.

"Refreshingly cold, Dottie. Just like being back in 'Nam. Though I expect the water is a bit cleaner here."

"Ma! You didn't!" Celeste was shocked.

"No, I didn't." Dottie smiled sweetly. "Your Grandmother did."

"Six weeks. Six more weeks and I will be out of this loony bin. I cannot wait to get back to school!" Celeste glared at her mother.

Ignoring her daughter, Dottie beckoned them to follow her to the kitchen. "If you'd carry the ice chest, Ducky. And Celeste, get the relish trays."

Celeste rolled her eyes. "Fine! Come on, Ducky."

"Oh, and your father and I thought it would be good if the two of you sat with the little ones to keep an eye on them."

"WHAT? Mother, that is NOT fair! I have spent my entire life doing that. I'm sick and tired of it. Cousin Ellie is plenty old enough to take over now. She's sixteen. I started being Nursery Mom at eleven."

"You're the eldest, dear."

"Am I not grown up enough to finally sit with the adults? I will be twenty in two months, Mother! "

"Indeed. Therefore, you and Ducky are much more responsible than Ellie. You will handle the situation beautifully. As you always do, dear." Dottie's smile was patronizing.

Celeste grabbed the trays and stacked them. "Great. Let the punishments begin!" She started toward the school building. Ducky tried to keep up, but he was burdened by a heavy ice chest.

"What's in here, anyway."

"That? Oh, that's just some extra beer. Most of its already at the church hall."

"Odd, but amusing, you Lutherans."

Celeste grinned. "True. And you've barely scratched the surface. So much more wonder awaits!"

They reached the door to the church hall and ran directly into Carl Porter.

"Daddy!"

"Celeste. Check with your grandmother about where she wants those trays. One on each table, probably." He reached under the plastic wrap of the top tray and took a couple of pimento stuffed olives. "Doctor, you can leave that right here by the door."

"Certainly, sir." Ducky set down the heavy ice chest. Porter opened the lid and removed a cold bottle of Stroh's.

"Care for one, Doctor?"

"Don't mind if I do, sir." Ducky helped himself. "Working as I have the last fourteen months with Americans, I've come to appreciate the concept of the 'tall cold one.' Very refreshing in weather like this, I've found." He took a swig.

"Ducky? Are you coming inside?" Celeste asked, her voice constricted, her face registering more fear than Ducky had ever seen in her.

Pastor Porter faced his daughter. "Run along, Celeste. I'll be along in time to give the blessing."

"Daddy!" There was defiance in her voice.

"_Now_, Celeste." His tone was calm but firm, allowing no room for argument. Celeste retreated.

"So, Doctor Mallard. You are from Scotland. Anglican are you?"

Ducky smiled. "Yes, sir."

"And schooling?"

_Thus begins the testing process.._.thought Ducky.

"Preparatory at Eton. Medical school in Edinburgh. Residency in London, at St Margaret Mercy. Then I joined the Army Medical Corps, shipped out for the first tour to Viet Nam. That lasted ten months, then back to London and St Margaret Mercy, where I met Celeste. Then I was called up to service again to Viet Nam."

"We lost a good family friend there. A very nice boy. He and Celeste were close."

"Celeste has mentioned that." Ducky suddenly felt tired again, his chest drawing tight. "If war isn't hell, Pastor Porter, it is at least a tendril of it, thrown up into this world. It takes so much more than it gives back."

Pastor Porter seemed surprised by Ducky's statement. "Ultimately true, I believe. I personally cannot fault those who protest against it."

A point of agreement. Ducky had a feeling this solidarity wasn't going to last very long.

"What are your plans now? Is this a vacation before you return to your position in London?"

Ducky was weary and knew his guard was down. He could sense Porter closing. He was hoping Ducky would reveal his feelings. His reason for coming to Michigan. There was no point in skirting the issue. It was what Porter wanted to know and what Ducky had changed his entire life for.

"I plan on staying here in the States indefinitely, sir. I would like to make a life here for Celeste and myself."

Porter's reaction was a dark look at Ducky. "My daughter says she is in love with you. And seems to feel that you are in love with her. I do not believe that for a moment, Doctor Mallard. I think you are using her to get a Green Card."

"What? Permanent residency? Of course, sir. That would be wonderful to have considering I _plan on marrying your daughter_." Ducky carefully emphasized the last five words of his statement.

"Not without a blessing from me. You may convince her to marry you, even go so far as elope, but she will never, ever be happy or whole without the support of her family. If you don't believe that, I suggest you observe her for the rest of the day. For all of our differences, all of the conflicts, for all the quirks and eccentricities, I hope the truth will break through and that you will see that there is underlying and very deep love in this home." Porter turned to enter the hall. "Please, Doctor Mallard, come join us at our meal."

"Thank you, sir." Ducky squared his shoulders and followed Carl Porter into the hall.

4


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The dinner passed in a blur of food, chasing four year-olds, wiping up spills, answering questions posed by eight year-olds about why his hair was so short and by sixteen year-olds about sex. ("You're a doctor and my parents won't tell me anything…"). Celeste was just as busy on her end, doing much the same.

"The best thing about this duty is that we won't have to be on the clean-up crew. But we'll probably get enlisted for break-down after the talent show. Not so bad, really." Celeste smiled as Ducky sidestepped a glob of mashed potatoes and dashed after one of the pair of cousins Celeste had dubbed "the two year-old twins from hell," to keep him, for the umpteenth time, from climbing the ladder attached to the wall leading to the projection booth.

"No, no Johnny. You can't climb up there." Ducky placed the boy in his seat at the table and tried to entice him to stay with a piece of cherry pie that Ducky ended up wearing.

"Do the parents ever come to claim them?"

"Eventually. But the parents wait until the kids are worn out and less of a handful." Celeste was mopping Kool-Aid off the table before it hit the hardwood floor. "And you wonder that I don't want to get pregnant…"

"Hey Doc," rang out a familiar voice.

"Ollie!" Celeste and Ducky replied in unison.

Oliver Johnston had been Celeste's best friend since sixth grade. They were on the same work/study program in London when Celeste and Ducky met, so it was a reunion of old friends as well as family.

"Sorry I couldn't make it sooner. Summer job," Ollie explained to Ducky. "I'm working at the 'Bijou' in the projection booth. It's fun, even though the pay isn't great. I got scheduled for the matinees today 'cause I wanted to be here. Am I too late for Grummie's custard cream pie?"

Celeste draped herself around her best friend's shoulders. "Better check it out. Take me with you…" She hung on as he moved toward the dessert table.

"Celly, you are such a goof. Help me out here, Ducky."

Ducky grabbed Celeste by the waist. She let go of Ollie's neck, turned around and draped herself around Ducky.

"Oh," she purred, "much better." She delivered a quick peck to Ducky's lips.

"Oliver's right. You are a goof." He returned the kiss a bit more slowly.

"Ewwww." It was little Johnny and his twin brother Joey.

"That's it! You're going back to your parents!" Celeste grabbed them by the hands and marched off to find whichever cousin, aunt or uncle they belonged to.

"So, Doc. I heard you met the Pastor. With your hand in the cookie jar." Ollie snorted. "I'd have paid good money to see that!"

"Thanks, Ollie. It was…awkward. I suppose it could have been worse."

"Not by much. For as much as they get on each other's cases, Celeste is still Daddy's Little Girl. She's probably his favorite, too, if he were to admit to having one. She's a lot like her dad, you know. Stubborn, sarcastic, funny."

"He's funny?"

"Yeah. Well you probably haven't seen much of that yet."

"No. Not really." Ducky was skeptical. "He clearly doesn't like me. He is running hot and cold, ironic given the shower I just took…"

"Yeah. I heard it was Grummie's idea. She's a pistol."

Ducky shook his head, "Pastor Porter is nice enough on the surface, but he's not at all fond of the fact that Celeste and I are serious about each other."

"Just how serious, Doc? I know being away at war gives people a new perspective, but, well, have you asked her?"

"I'll know when the time is right. But I want everyone else to know that I'm sincere and want the best for her."

Ollie looked at him, sincerity on his face. "I know, Doc. I've seen you together. I know how you treat each other. I don't think I've ever seen any two people that fit together as well. Not Viv and Ron. Not even the Porters. I wish I could find something like that, but for me…well, it's not too likely."

"Times are changing, Ol. Someday you'll meet the right guy…"

"That's what Celly always says. Just the way you said it, too. You two are sides of the same coin. A perfect fit. I envy you."

"I'm still afraid that Pastor Porter doesn't want to believe I'm sincere about wanting to…" Ducky looked around, desperately wanting this part of the conversation to remain private, and away from any Porter ears, "…marry Celeste. He's convinced I'm using her, at the very least for immigration status and we can pretty much figure what else he thinks I'm using her for…"

"Well, he's not a complete ogre, Doc. He opened his home to me when I was going through a lot. Plenty of dads are worse than Pastor P, trust me."

"I know, Ollie." He thought of his own father and the loveless marriage his parents shared. Of how nothing Ducky did was ever quite enough, certainly not good enough. How Ducky should have been more interested in sport – long distance running wasn't a sport – how Ducky should have specialized in heart surgery instead of general medicine.

And now he was facing another father that didn't think he was good enough. What could Ducky do to change Porter's perception of him?

"Explain this talent contest," he asked, the germ of an idea forming. "Are there prizes or is it just honorary?"

"Well, the prizes are pretty much gag prizes, but there's a popularity element as well. The family votes on the act they like the best. And the winners get like $20.00 to split amongst themselves. I'm in Alan's band 'Rat Control.' He was going to call it 'The Exterminators,' but Celly didn't think that was clever enough."

Ducky chuckled. "She wouldn't. Did she come up with 'Rat Control?' Sounds like her."

"They threw a bunch of names in a hat and picked one. That was the winner. It probably was one that she threw in."

"What are you guys playing tonight? Alan looks more a little more like a Grateful Dead type than the Beatles."

"Looks might be deceiving, Doc. Although Alan _is_ rather fond of the Dead. We are covering 'Yellow Submarine' if you must know. A family favorite." Ollie looked at Ducky thoughtfully. "Hey, Doc…you want to sit in? You're pretty good, y'know."

"I'm probably better than I was back in London, given about all I did in my free time the last fourteen months was beat my CO at chess and play my six-string. It was pathetic, really."

"What? No pretty nurses?"

Ducky grinned. "Not even with trays…"

"Well, you're welcome to sit in. We're gonna practice in a few minutes."

"Have you got a spare six string? I could give it a go, but I've just had another idea. If you wouldn't mind singing a little backup. We can do a run through. It might be fun!"

"I'm game Doc." Ollie grabbed a couple of beers from the cooler and showed Ducky to the practice room above the garage.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The church hall was stiflingly hot, though every window and door was open, ceiling fans were running full tilt and several huge floor fans were set around the room and aimed at the stage. Dottie was herding performers in and out of the backstage area and Celeste was lining up the acts in the proper order and helping move things on and off the stage. Carl Porter provided introductions and yes, jokes. Really funny jokes and anecdotes. Ducky could see that this had all been done many times before and it amazed him that something like this should be a family tradition. He'd never seen anything like it. And something deep inside him longed to be a part of it, an accepted part, and not just some outsider looking in.

"All right you Rats. Line up. Your sorry butts are up next. You'll have to do mic adjustments and a sound check once you're out there, so make it quick." Celeste hadn't looked up from her clipboard long enough to notice Ducky was there.

"I'm going to need a chair, Miss. For my solo." Ducky stood in front of her.

"Oh," Celeste smiled, "You're with the band. Nice. What solo? Are you guys still doing 'Yellow Submarine'? And…geez, Alan, you aren't going to do 'Revolution' in front of Grandpa Porter! I don't need him going off on one of his right-wing rants…"

"Just wanted to see if you were paying attention, Sis. No, we're going to do "Penny Lane." And a special, surprise song."

"Okay. Just don't run too long or Daddy will cut you off. Rudely." She jotted something on a small piece of paper. "Less than five minutes, guys." She started off to the wings where her father was ready to close the current act and introduce "Rat Control." Before going too far, though, she walked back to Ducky and gave him a very sound kiss. "Break a leg, Mallard. The rest of you guys too."

Ducky grinned. "She is just so damn good at that!"

Alan and Ollie looked at him and shrugged. "If you say so," they chorused.

"Rat Control" went on, played their two songs very well. Ducky was glad they had rehearsed a lot without him because he could fake a bit and not be noticed. The band took their bows. Ducky walked up to the center mic with a chair and his borrowed guitar.

He cleared his throat. "A moment of your time, please, ladies and gentlemen. I'd like to introduce myself. I'm Donald Mallard, Ducky, the one you've probably been hearing so much about today. The doctor from Scotland who just got back from Viet Nam alive and thankful. And the fellow that happens to be quite mad in many ways, but chiefly over your Celeste. My beautiful Celeste." He glanced into the wings where Celeste stood, clipboard pressed to her chest, huge grin on her face.

"Whilst I was overseas, I had a fair amount of free time, which I used to practice the guitar. And I found a song that seemed, more than any other, to represent what Celeste means to me. Singing it, humming it, thinking about it, kept me from being discouraged in the darkest of times. So if you will kindly bear with me while I adjust the mic and tune a bit, I'd like to share it with you – and especially with Celeste." Ducky sat down, and made his adjustments.

He strummed the introductory chords. "This is called, 'Here, There and Everywhere.""

Then he sang in a clear, sweet baritone:

"To lead a better life, I need my love to be here…"

Ducky heard Celeste gasp from the wings. The clipboard clattered to the floor.

"Here, making each day of the year,  
Changing my life with a wave of her hand.  
Nobody can deny that there's something there.  
There, running my hands through her hair,  
Both of us thinking how good it can be.  
Someone is speaking but she doesn't know he's there.  
I want her ev'rywhere, and if she's beside me I know I need never care,  
But to love her is to meet her ev'rywhere,  
Knowing that love is to share,  
Each one believing that love never dies,  
Watching her eyes and hoping I'm always there.  
To be there and ev'rywhere,  
Here, there and ev'rywhere."

Ducky finished the last chord. There was a moment of silence. Then wild applause erupted and the family audience was on their feet. Celeste came out and stood in front of him, her face tear-streaked.

Ducky set the guitar down, stood up and folded Celeste into an embrace.

"Mallard, I don't know what to say…" Her voice was carried out by the sound system.

"Well, would you believe," Ducky replied into the mic, "I've got her speechless!" He kissed her then, to the sound of applause and cheers. They walked offstage and into the wings where Carl Porter stood, staring at his daughter and potential son-in-law.

"Was that a Beatles song?" he asked. "Nicely played, Doctor Mallard." He squeeze Celeste's shoulder. "Maybe I should let go a bit, eh, my girl?"

"Yes, Daddy. You should."

"I'm not through with you yet, however, Dr. Mallard. It's clearly your moment, both of you." Pastor Porter sighed, an enigmatic look on his face. "Tomorrow is yours. Wherever you wander off to, I'll try not to come looking…all right?"

"Thanks, Daddy." Celeste gave her father a hug.

"And don't get into trouble, Celeste. In ANY sense of the word."

"Daddy, don't you remember what it was like when you and Mom first got together?"

"I do. Hence my concern."

"Well, don't worry, Daddy. Ducky's a doctor."

Ducky winced. She always pushed a little farther than she should.

"Another reason for concern. But I have to trust you. Your mother says I should. Tomorrow is your day. Just the two of you. Use it wisely. And remember, it's Sunday." Porter walked off to announce the balloting would start.

"The sheets will be smokin' tomorrow…"

"Alan!" Celeste slapped her brother's arm.

Ollie snickered. "Wherever they go it better be sound-proof."

Alan perked up. "Oh?"

"Kept me awake on more than one occasion. And not just your sister, either."

"Whoa, Sis!" Alan grinned at the red-faced couple. "Rock on, Ducky!"

"Can we commit murder without leaving any evidence, Ducky?" asked Celeste, incensed.

"Yes. But we can leave no witnesses, either." Ducky looked pointedly at Ollie.

Alan looked alarmed. "Uh, Sis. I think he's starting to fit in. Too well."

Celeste smiled at her sweetheart. "Never a doubt." She took Ducky's hand and led him out of the church hall.

No one dared to follow.

3


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ducky and Celeste sat together, dozing on the front porch glider. Celeste had made each of them a fresh strawberry sundae with whipped cream, chocolate chips and a cherry and they ate them talking of nothing and everything, just enjoying being together. They cuddled, too content and complacent to seek out anywhere else.

Together was enough. This was the beginning of forever. "I love you, Celeste," Ducky whispered into her hair.

She snuggled closer. "I love you, too."

The activity at the church hall was winding down. People were starting to leave, a fairly steady stream of cars gliding down the driveway and turning onto Morton Avenue. A few people honked and waved at the couple. Two or three actually stopped and came over to say good-bye, shake hands, give a hug, wish them well. Ducky knew he would never be able to keep all the aunts, uncles and cousins straight, but he smiled and was gracious.

"I think," Ducky whispered after another set of cousins drove off, "it's time for bed."

Celeste shook her head and chuckled. "Daddy wasn't granting permission, you know. He won't be surprised if we take it as such, though. Disappointed? Yes. He will be if we _do_ take advantage of the freedom. He'll undoubtedly get sarcastic with both of us. But he has to remember what it was like to be young and in love or he wouldn't have said what he said. By the way, did you know that I'm a 'honeymoon baby?' Daddy and Mom got married on January 28th. I was born September 27th. Much finger-counting ensued."

"Hmmm…No wonder he's so – vigilant. I am rather tired, though. I slept every chance I had on the flights. I wasn't even awake when we took off from St. John's, I just strapped in and that's the last thing I remember. They had to wake me in Boston and again in Detroit. But I'm not sure it was very restful sleep."

"Let's get you settled, then, Sweets. I will not bother you."

"Celeste, there is no way you could ever bother me in the bedroom. At least in a negative way." He drew her into a kiss that became surprisingly passionate despite his weariness.

They finally went inside. Elizabeth and Dottie were in the kitchen scrubbing pots, pans and countless serving utensils and vessels. "Want me to wash these, Ma?" Celeste asked, holding the spoons and bowls from the ice cream.

"What are you two doing down here?" Dottie looked genuinely surprised. "I thought you'd be, well, at the very least hanging with the band above the garage."

"We've been on the front porch."

"Your father was really moved by Ducky's song…it reminded him of something he did when we were dating. His soft, romantic side took over for a moment and he ceased seeing you as his little girl and more as the woman you've become. A young woman in love with a very sweet man who clearly adores her."

Ducky smiled at that. "Perceptive man."

"Any thoughts on where tomorrow will take you?" Dottie asked.

"There's nowhere we can go here to be completely alone, Mom," Celeste sighed. "I'd be afraid of someone pounding on the door at the very least, or of Mark and Alan rigging some kind of periscope and peeking. I wouldn't put it past either of them. Or Jessica listening at the door. She's the nosiest little brat ever."

"The crosses you bear, Celeste." Dottie took the bowls.

"What did Daddy do when you guys were dating that prompted this, anyway?"

Dottie glanced at Elizabeth. "I don't think now is the time to discuss it, Celeste. Not the specifics anyway."

"Listen, I think I know where we can go tomorrow, but I have to talk to Oliver first." Celeste grabbed Ducky's hand and tugged him toward the kitchen door.

"I love a take-charge woman," Ducky grinned as the door slammed shut behind them. He grabbed Celeste by the waist, pulled her toward him and spun her around to face him. "And just what would you like right now, woman?"

"Take a guess. Man." She slid her arms around his neck and drew him into a deep, lingering kiss.

Ducky slowly pulled away. "God, I will never tire of this. Ever." She smelled like strawberries and the flowers of a summer night. He wanted her. All of her. He trailed kisses from her ear to her throat, his hand under her shirt, cupping her breast.

"Mmmm," Celeste sighed, "Neither will I."

"I want you so much. I'd take you right here and now if I could." He pressed his hips against her to emphasize his desire.

"Sadly, now is not the time or place. The porch light knows all, reveals all."

"And when you're backlit like you are right now in that gauzy top, it reveals that you are indeed a very liberated woman."

"Like you haven't already noticed. I haven't burned my bras, you know. I just choose not to wear them. Especially in weather like this. The easiness of access is a bonus for you."

"Oh, indeed! You won't find any complaints from me regarding your political leanings…or your warm weather wardrobe."

Celeste pulled Ducky's hand again and led him down the steps into the darkness between the house and the garage. They could hear the band tuning and someone playing the opening chords to "Fortunate Son."

As she turned to face him, Ducky slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a deep, long kiss. Hands found their way past waistbands and belts as Ducky eventually pressed Celeste against the garage wall in order for both of them to get more purchase.

Celeste made quick work of the buttons on his shirt and opened it. "You _have_ lost weight, Mallard. Don't they feed you in the Army? If Grummie sees this she will make it her mission to fatten you up. Spaetzle and pork gravy. Potato pancakes. Dumpling soup. Potatoes and kielbasa with sauerkraut. Detecting the potato-pattern here?"

"Not thinking of food right now, Celeste." He pressed his mouth to hers, effectively stopping further conversation.

A minimum of tugging freed Celeste's arms from her peasant blouse. Ducky hesitated at removing it entirely…they were not in the most private of locales. Celeste had unfastened his belt and his fly button and was starting on the zipper. That didn't bother him in the slightest, especially when she finished the job and reached inside his boxers.

"I think somebody missed me…" she breathed in his ear as she stroked his now unfettered erection.

"So very glad you noticed." He pushed her shorts and panties down below her hips, gently reaching into her folds. She was wet and ready for him. God knows he was ready for her.

"Ducky, I love you." She kissed him again, broke away and began nipping his neck. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Love. Sometimes so much I ached for you."

"Me too." Celeste pulled away a bit. Not enough to stop his touches, but just a bit."I need to tell you something. At school, the beginning of last quarter. In March?"

Ducky couldn't imagine what was that important about the past school year that it couldn't wait awhile. "Yes?" He started kissing her neck.

"Viv said I should…" She gasped as he gave her a love nip that would certainly leave a mark. A good sized one, too.

"What did Vivian say you should do?" He didn't let her reply immediately, opting instead for a long, deep kiss.

"Go on the pill."

That stopped him. "She did?"

"Well, sure. She's been on it forever. She took me over to the clinic. If you're eighteen you don't need parental consent. Viv said that even though I didn't know when you were coming back, I should be ready."

"You're on the pill?"

Celeste nodded.

"Since when? How long? Over three months?" he asked.

"Since April. Four months."

He hadn't thought it possible to become more aroused than he already was, but he did. "We're going to a damn hotel right now! Hell, we're going to my room and we are getting it on like nobody's business. Let 'em break down the goddam door and catch us in the act. God, I love the sexual revolution! And I love you, Celeste. And Vivian, too, for that matter. She's a flaming genius!" Ducky gave her a kiss that took her breath away.

A slamming door and feet stomping down stairs brought them up short. "They're in my car. I'll get them," Ollie called up to someone in the practice room.

"Shit!" they hissed in unison.

Celeste and Ducky quickly started doing damage control and were barely half-decent when Ollie appeared. He didn't see them at first, and nearly bumped into Ducky.

"Jesus, Doc! You scared the crap out of me!" His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he looked back and forth between Celeste and Ducky and let out a whistle. "You really like living dangerously, don't you?" he laughed. "Pastor Carl's still in the church office. He's a lot quieter than I am when he comes around the corner of the garage and ravishing the little girl twice in one day is going to cost you serious points, man!"

Celeste readjusted her blouse and hitched up her shorts. Ducky finished tucking in his shirt and re-buckled his belt.

"Geez, you two," Ollie shook his head, grinning. "Must have gotten pretty close. Reminds me of our sitting room back in London…Lost it yet, Celly? You said you'd tell me when you did."

"Ollie!" Celeste swatted him playfully. "On that subject I have something to ask you."

"Oh? Well, let me get an extra set of extension cables out of my trunk and I'll meet you upstairs. There are a few beers left, help yourselves."

"Sure Ollie, thanks." Ducky finished buttoning his shirt.

Celeste smoothed her hair and made sure she looked presentable. Then she dragged Ducky up the stairs to the room above the garage. They stopped at the cooler just outside the upper door and each grabbed a beer. They popped the tops open on the bottle opener attached to the cooler. As she opened her bottle, Ducky gave Celeste an appraising stare. "Oh dear. I guess I got a bit carried away."

"My neck looks like I got attacked by a vacuum cleaner, doesn't it?" She looked mildly amused as she touched the side of his neck. "Well, it got you, too!"

Ducky grinned and kissed her again. "At least they'll know we're together…"

They went through the door where they were met by the sound of electric bass feedback that threatened to crack their eardrums.

"Geez, Mike, it's almost 10 o'clock. Daddy's gonna pull the plug if you don't cut the volume!" Celeste glared at the bass player.

"Nice to see you too, Celeste. Your boyfriend isn't half bad on guitar, you know. I can almost forgive him for stealing you away from me."

Mike was tall with long, light brown hair, a scruffy full beard and green eyes. He was also an old boyfriend of Celeste's. Ducky had no idea what Celeste ever saw in him, but he certainly knew what Mike would see in Celeste. And never got.

"Yeah, Mike. I didn't break up with you because you were a jerk. I broke up with you because you were a cheating, lying jerk. Oh, and give Carol my love and eternal thanks." Celeste pushed her hair back, deliberately directing it away from her neck. The hickey was clearly visible. She glared at Mike defiantly.

Mike looked at Ducky. "You know what you're getting here, right?"

"Yes. I'm perfectly aware." _And I'm getting it, mate. Oh yes I am!_ He looked the young man in the eye, smiling triumphantly. Ducky knew what he had, all right, and he thanked his lucky stars for her.

"Ollie," Celeste called over to him as he came back into the room. "Need private conversation. Now." She pulled both Ollie and Ducky into the small kitchen next to the practice room.

"Holy shit, Doc, that's the best one you've given her yet!" Ollie stage whispered. "Did Mike see it?"

"I'm pretty sure he did. He never got that far and he's probably stewing." Celeste put her arms around Ducky's waist. "My virtue is just waiting for you, my love," she whispered.

"Better question," Ollie continued, "did Alan see it?"

"He's not going to say anything to Daddy."

"No. Hell, he won't need to. Your father's not blind yet. I'm thinking Al might have something to say to you, Doc. He sometimes gets protective of his sisters."

"He's protective of Jess because she's still little. He used to make fun of Mike when we were dating, but they're in the band together so kidding comes pretty naturally there. He's never been especially protective of me, especially since I've always been able to throw him down and sit on him until recently."

"Really?" Ducky asked with an amused smile.

"Doc, you never want to really piss her off. She kicks places you really don't want kicked." Ollie winced. "I speak from personal experience."

"You had it coming, Oliver. And I'd never do that to Ducky anyway. I know ways that would hurt him far more and they don't even leave a mark." Celeste smiled evilly at her beloved. "You've been away how long? Fourteen months? Such a long time to go without…"

Ducky looked at Ollie and sighed. "Well, I guess you know by which part of my anatomy she has me."

"Never doubted that, Doc."

Celeste just rolled her eyes at them. "Ollie, your mom…is she still in Europe?"

"She won't be back till the end of August. Why?"

"Anyone in the cottage?"

"No…I've gotta go up next weekend and set it up for the renters that are scheduled to arrive on the following Tuesday, but no one is there now. Mom doesn't rent it to anyone she doesn't know personally."

"And she has no idea about Ollie's Party Palace, either, does she?"

"That's because you help me clean up afterwards…I'll always love you for that…"

"Should I know about this?" Ducky asked. "Just what _have_ you been doing the past fourteen months, Celeste?"

"Remaining disgustingly faithful to you, Doc. Honestly, I couldn't believe how many guys came on to her."

"How many exactly?" Ducky glanced at Celeste who was definitely squirming.

"I don't know. A couple, I guess."

"More than that. She's especially attractive to Pre-mins. A couple of them made it their life's mission to get her to go out with them."

"Pre-mins?"

"Pre-ministerial students. Theology majors. Guys who study Greek and Hebrew and generally have enormous egos. Those guys think Celly should be all over them."

"I have no idea why."

"The brainy ones like a challenge, Celly. Dollars to donuts, that's what Doc saw in you. Right, Doc?"

Ducky knew full well that's exactly why he found Celeste attractive in the first place. She was smart, pretty and kept him interested and on his toes at all times. She was a challenge indeed. "I think you might be on to something there, Oliver."

"Well, Ollie, Ron and Viv kept the guys away if I had any trouble. So you should thank them."

"Oh, two reasons to thank Vivian now. I must remember this the next time I see her."

Ollie looked confused. "Two?"

Celeste grinned. "Yes, dear Oliver. I'm not elaborating now, but do you think we could borrow the cottage tomorrow?"

It was Ollie's turn to grin. "Oh yes, sweet girl." He fumbled with a snap on his belt and removed a sizable set of keys. "Here you go." He pressed a key into Celeste's hand. "Stay as long as you like. I'm at my dad's until mom gets back. He's already got his truck and a car, so I can nab transportation anytime. That said, you may also borrow my Green Machine. I'll bring it by in the A.M."

"Thanks, Ollie!" Celeste gave him a kiss on the cheek. "The Green Machine is the most fantastic 1964 ½ Mustang. AM/FM stereo. Convertible. It's such a cool car!"

The band had been practicing "Bad Moon Rising" but stopped abruptly. "Geez, Mike, you came in too soon again. Get it together, man!" Alan yelled.

"_**You**_ get it together, asshole! You never get the progression right!"

Celeste, Oliver and Ducky rushed out of the kitchen to see what was going on.

"What are you so pissed off about?" Alan asked. "Cool it for a minute and we can take it from the top. Let's all take five."

"Yeah. Cool it, Alan. While you're at it, cool off your slutty sister who can't keep her hands off guys long enough to let 'em unzip."

"How the hell would you know that, Mike? She never even tried getting into your pants and I know you never got into hers. Unlike Carol, who gets into everybody's." Celeste's brother was furious. Ducky thought Alan had seemed the most mellow of the lot, but apparently the Porter mouth ran genetically pure.

"Shut up, Porter!" Mike lunged at Alan, but Alan sidestepped the taller, larger young man easily.

Unfortunately, Mike blundered right into a none-too-happy Ducky.

Ducky grabbed the front of Mike's shirt, spun him around and slammed him forcefully against the wall. "I think an apology is in order, mate. To both Celeste and Alan. And to me. Because you insulted us by your implications." Ducky applied steady force and continued pressing Mike into the wall.

"Yeah, well Alan insulted my girlfriend. Where's my apology?" Mike squirmed to break Ducky's hold which became tighter. Then he snaked his leg behind Ducky's and kicked the back of his knee. Ducky lost his balance which forced him into Mike and they both slid to the floor.

Mike scrambled to his feet, dragging Ducky with him. It was Ducky's turn to be slammed into the wall with enough force that the back of his head cracked the drywall. The pain resulted in a gut reaction. Ducky's balled fist connected with Mike's nose.

This only served to infuriate the larger man. Ducky found himself on the floor again, this time pinned under Mike's full weight. He found it hard to breathe because Mike was constricting his diaphragm. Ducky squirmed to free himself.

Mike sat up and glared down at Ducky, his nose dripping blood. "Smart, fancy-talking English doctor! I am now going to mess up that too pretty face of yours."

"No you're not, Lapinski!" Alan launched himself at Mike, knocking him over and landing on top of Ducky.

"Oooof!" Ducky figured that would leave a mark. He scrambled out from the pile of limbs he found himself beneath and jumped to his feet about two seconds before Mike. Alan remained down for the count.

Ducky noted peripherally that Ollie dragged Alan away from the now circling combatants. Ducky maintained a defensive stance because Mike was making preliminary jabs at him. The more developed part of Ducky's brain realized how ridiculous this was. But that part wasn't willing out right now. He really wanted to land another good one.

Mike took a step closer and brought his right fist forward. Ducky deflected it with his left arm and slammed his right fist into Mike's celiac plexus. Mike dropped like a bag of rocks.

Ducky stood for a moment, hands on knees, catching his breath. Mike lay on the floor, doubled over. Ducky's higher calling kicked in and he went over to examine the defeated, deflated bass player.

"You all right, Mike?"

He opened his eyes slowly. "Yeah. I think so. You throw a wicked punch, man!" Mike slowly stretched out.

"I'll have a look. Can you sit up?"

"I think so." He gradually worked up to a sitting position.

Ducky squatted next to him. "See, the good thing about getting into it with me is that I can patch you up if necessary." He grinned. "Let's see that nose first."

Celeste was suddenly next to him, handing him a wet compress. "You'll need this for him, I suspect."

"Thank you. Nurse." He turned to look at her, smiling. The smile faded immediately when he saw her expression. "I'm in trouble, right?"

Celeste sighed. "What is it about testosterone? And before you go into a lecture on endocrinology, it was a rhetorical question." She went over to her brother. Alan looked a bit shaken, but none the worse for wear. She pushed his hair back and placed a compress on Alan's forehead.

Ducky examined Mike. His nose wasn't broken and the bleeding had subsided. There would be a bruise where Ducky had connected with Mike's abdomen, but not a bad one. Ducky felt his own bruises also, and his wrist hurt from throwing the punch to the plexus.

"My official diagnosis – bumps and bruises. We will all live."

"Yes, but will you actually grow up?" Celeste threw Ducky a wet washcloth. "You have a cut above your left eye. Physician, heal thyself." She stood next to Alan, arms crossed, a disgusted look on her face.

"Celeste…" Ducky began.

"Go. Wash your face." She pointed in the direction of the small water closet off the main room.

"Geez Celeste. He did it for you." Mike stood up shakily. "I acted like an asshole and said stuff I shouldn't have. I flew off the handle. I'm sorry."

Celeste looked at Mike skeptically. "So now everything is all right? You both – the three of you, really, tried to beat the crap out of each other and you're _**okay**_ with it? You're gonna make nice now? You're going to apologize and turn into teddy bears?"

"Well, yeah, Sis. It's over." Alan managed a shaky grin.

"Yeah, Celly. Even_ I_ get it." Ollie added.

"And guys don't 'get' women. I will never understand that." Celeste threw up her hands. "I'm not washing that cut off for you Mallard. You deserved it. Clean up, for God's sake."

"See, Ducky? I'm sure everybody's already tried telling you she's no sympathetic nurturer." Alan looked at Mike. "Right Lapinski?"

"That's for sure. She'd watch you die in the gutter if she were pissed off enough."

"Maybe you, Mike," Alan tossed in another dig.

Ducky knew better. Celeste was tender-hearted, loving and forgiving, almost to a fault. He'd scared her – they all had – by reverting to their baser natures. "Celeste, Love. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

She glared at him for a moment, then her expression softened. "Well, you did."

"How about if I promise never to do it again?"

"Never defend my honor again?" She gave him a half-smile. "I kinda _liked_ that part."

"How about if I promise to never drop poor Mike like that again?" Ducky shrugged, then grinned. "It's a start."

"I'd take you up on it, Doctor M," Mike replied, rubbing his nose.

"It's Ducky, Mike. Call me Ducky." He extended his right hand.

"Sure. Ducky." Mike shook on it.

"I give up!" Celeste walked over to her sweetheart and removed the washcloth from his hand. "Let me do that," she said as she gently cleaned the tiny cut and wiped the dirt off Ducky's face. She smiled at him tenderly. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her gently.

Celeste reciprocated intensely.

"Now that I don't get," remarked Mike, shaking his head.

"I think," Ollie replied, "that _that _would be the effects of estrogen. But I'm no endocrinologist."

11


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Ducky awoke to the sound of knocking on…a door? He slowly opened his eyes…he was in a real bed. A double bed. Alone. Ceiling overhead, not canvas. Not corrugated steel. Celeste was here. She brought him here. Where the hell was she?

He ached all over. The aches of physical exertion, not of illness. His head in particular was throbbing. Hangover throbbing.

The beer. He, Mike, Ollie and Alan and the other two band members had finished it. Last night after the fight. How much had been left? Half a case? No. A full case of …what? Some Canadian beer that Ollie said he smuggled in from Windsor last time he went over. They talked about it. Couldn't buy the beer in Michigan because the alcohol content was higher than permitted by law.

Damn the stuff was good. Gave a great buzz after two. Lost Alan after three. Things got decidedly fuzzy after four.

Of course, the shots didn't help. Once the beer was gone Mike said that Ducky should try the good old American classic bourbon. Ducky had tried it in Viet Nam several times. Didn't care for it much. Especially since it felt like burning turpentine on the way down. After four or five beers it wasn't bad. Better than he remembered, anyway…

The knocking again. Ducky lifted his head and decided it was a poor course of action, so he put it down, curling up on his side.

He remembered trying to explain cricket between numbers three and four. And Ollie kept correcting him…

"Sweets?" It was Celeste.

"Mmmmmuh?" It was the best he could do.

He heard the door squeak open. "Good. You're alive. Wasn't too sure. Geez you were wasted." She plopped down hard on the bed, bouncing up and down.

Just what he needed. To feel woosier. "Not a good idea Celeste. Stop the bouncing unless you want to change the sheets."

"Oh, no. That would be your job if it needs to be done." To her credit, though, she stopped jumping.

"What happened?"

"I think they call it 'male bonding.' You and the guys from the band were getting to be thick as thieves after the third beer. That's when Alan passed out. He's underage you know. He won't be eighteen until February."

"Great. Contributing to the delinquency of a minor. They'd put my ass on the first plane back to England."

"Not without me they wouldn't. Besides, it would be Ollie's ample ass that would be grass. He bought it. And brought it into the country illegally. Your ass would continue to be just fine. Very fine indeed." Celeste illustrated her point by reaching over him and grabbing.

It was then Ducky noticed she was wearing a thin cotton bathrobe, her hair wrapped in a towel. And nothing else.

He decided to file that information for later use. "Did everyone get home all right?"

"I dragged Alan into the house. Daddy caught us. Asked what happened. I said 'Ollie brought more beer.' Daddy just shrugged and went back to bed."

"What about the others?"

"I left the pile of bodies where they fell, Major Mallard. Except for yours. I hauled it up here. Daddy was either asleep or didn't care. And you were Doctor Many-hands. Not that I minded."

"Please don't tell me we did it and I don't remember."

"Of course not. I knew you were too buzzed to appreciate a truly special moment. I saved you from yourself. I've got great plans for that momentous event, Ducky. It will be a Night to Remember."

"Thank God I didn't miss it!"

"Now, if you want to make points with Daddy, get your butt going and get ready for church. It's 8:30 now and late service starts at 11:00."

"What? I'd rather make points with you. You have nothing on under that robe, do you?"

"Very observant for a man with bloodshot eyes. And don't worry about making points with me. You'll be scoring soon enough, Stud."

"I wouldn't mind sooner rather than later."

Celeste sighed. "Lovely thought. Perfect opportunity. Unfortunately, you are still in the confines of Porterville. Something will happen to stop it."

"I don't mind tempting fate."

"Not on Sunday morning. How about I bring you some coffee?"

"With some aspirin? I think I'm talking a better game than I could actually play right now."

"Oooh! An honest man! How refreshing. In that case, consider this a preview of things to come, Mallard." She stood up, then leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. The robe was open at the neck and the view was magnificent.

"Suggestion," she said. "Brush teeth and use extra mouthwash. Take a nice, long shower. There will be plenty of hot water. Grummie went home hours ago."

"That's a relief."

"Once you're done, put on your bestest frock and we'll scrounge up some breakfast. Sunday morning is pretty much 'make your own breakfast' day anyhow. Daddy goes over to the church about 7:30 to robe and get ready. Mom, Mark and Jess go to early service, then hang out afterwards for Sunday School. Alan and I go to late service because we're hedonists. We take notes and critique Dad's sermons. Mom does at early service, too, and Mark is starting. We then sit around and compare notes. Daddy gets thumped around a lot. It's really fun."

"A whole room of Porters doing a critique? I pale to think of it!" Ducky swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. His head felt like it was playing the drum solo in "Wipeout." "Any chance of that aspirin sooner rather than later?"

"Of course, Sweets! I'll be back in a flash." She made a quick retreat down the stairs.

Ducky managed to stand up on rather shaky legs and make his way to the bathroom. He had just shut the door when he heard Celeste return.

"Ducky?"

"In here, Love! I'll just be a minute." Raising his voice to be heard through the closed door was not a good idea. The reverb in the bathroom was a killer.

"Aspirin's on the nightstand. I'll be right back." He heard her go down the stairs again.

After taking care of the urgent business, he thought he'd do a bit of oral hygiene. By the time he finished Celeste still hadn't returned. He went into the bedroom grabbed the aspirin bottle and shook out three pills. Celeste had thoughtfully left a glass of water. Ducky downed the medicine with a generous gulp.

The thought of a shower was appealing, so Ducky returned to the bathroom with an extra towel and turned on the water. He felt the spray before stepping in and it was indeed warm.

He had just lathered up well when he heard Celeste's voice at the door. "I'm back, Sweets. Take your time. I'll wait." Thinking of her waiting for him in his room and the effects of the warm water caused the first stirrings of an arousal. It only compounded as he continued reflecting on Celeste in that thin cotton robe sitting on his bed.

Celeste without the robe. Waiting in his bed. There was an image that did nothing to calm him. Quite the opposite. He crawled out of the shower, shaved quickly and wrapped a towel around his waist, keenly aware that it really hid nothing. He entered the bedroom in a cloud of steam.

The actual image was a hybrid of the two he had fantasized. Celeste was still wearing the robe, but she was comfortably ensconced in his bed.

"Did you miss me, Mallard?" she purred, eyes fixed on the towel at his waist. "Looks like you did."

"Oh yes, Celeste. I thought of you every minute." He walked over to the bed and stood beside her. "Mind if I join you? It's my bed after all."

She smiled a slightly feral smile. "I'd be very disappointed if you didn't."

Ducky lifted up the sheet and started to slide in next to her. Celeste grabbed the towel and tugged it off and Ducky reached for the loosely tied belt which fell open at his touch. She slid her arms out of the garment and tossed it aside. Celeste was gloriously naked and reaching for him.

"You are the most beautiful man I've ever seen," she said huskily.

He'd never heard the want, the need in her voice like that before. It was the most erotic thing he'd ever experienced. He lay down on his right side, slid his arm around her waist and drew her closer, catching her mouth with his, pressing his hardness against her abdomen, his hands barely touching her hips as they traveled back to her buttocks. Her skin was exquisitely soft.

In all their time in London they had never been completely naked together. Celeste always maintained a bit of decorum by keeping some article of clothing on her body at all times. Even if it were just her favored incredibly skimpy, lacy bikini panties pushed down to her knees.

"Alan won't be bothering us," she whispered, her breath hot and sweet against his ear and cheek. "He's more hung over than you. Of course beer is not his drug of choice and weed doesn't really provide him with a hangover. He should be all right in time for church, though."

"Still planning on attending?" He ran his tongue around the outside of her ear, then fluttered the lobe with it, causing a sharp intake of breath.

"Uh-huh," she replied. It's just nine AM. We have enough time."

"I thought we were going to wait until later…" He cupped her breast, teasing the nipple to hardness.

"This is the pre-game show, Babe. We're going to do everything we can short of the Big One." To prove her point, she gently stroked him as she nipped and nibbled his nipples.

"God, I love that," Ducky moaned.

Celeste continued kissing and lightly running her tongue down his chest. Ducky gave himself over completely to the sensation. He was still on his side and when she came to his waist she detoured slightly and feather kissed along his waist to his hip.

She stopped abruptly. "Mallard, what is this?"

"What is wh – oh, that! It's a duck. A mallard duck."

"I can see that. As a tattoo? On your hip? How drunk were you when that happened?"

"Not terribly. I lost a poker game. To a Marine. A very burly one. He already had about five tattoos of his own and he – um – challenged me to get one to pay off my poker debt. He laughed his arse off when he saw what I chose. Still, I think the artist did a fairly good job, all things said."

"Oh my goodness, Donald Mallard…what is it with you and testosterone? You have to prove you're just as tough as a Marine? Or a bass player?" She sat up, crossing her arms across her bare breasts.

"It's just one of those things, Celeste. I could have gotten 'Mother' tattooed across a heart or something, but this was more – unique, I thought."

"Oh," she started to giggle. "It is. Damned original." She fell back onto the bed, overcome by a fit of laughter. "Like hell you weren't 'terribly' drunk."

"I assure you, Celeste, I was much more drunk last night than when I got this tattoo. I remember everything about it, including personally sterilizing all the needles and providing gloves for the artist. Who was, by all reports, one of the finest tattoo artists in Saigon. Actually studied art in France for awhile."

"Aren't you the thorough one, Doctor Mallard?" Celeste lay on the pillow, damp hair fanning out around her head and framing her face. She looked like a classic painting, a Renoir, perhaps or Rembrandt. A woman comfortable in her own skin, with her own body, ready with every fiber of her being to take her lover.

His reply was to pull her to him, roll over on his back with Celeste across his chest, his hands running lightly up and down her back and sides. He felt her shudder with pleasure. She met his mouth with hers, gave him a deep, lingering kiss. Her hand caressed his hardness. His fingers explored her, felt her arousal intensify in time with his. She was ready for him, as ready as he. She moaned as he thrust his hand rhythmically in time with her strokes.

He was getting close and so was Celeste. They'd brought each other to climax dozens of times before when they were in London. He knew her clues; how her body moved around him, how she breathed and articulated when she was about to come. But something about this was different. Time was suspended somehow. Celeste was relaxed, more sure. It was erotic and unbelievably arousing and he realized if he didn't back off he would take her and her special, perfect moment would be jeopardized.

He started to pull back when she said, "Take me, Ducky. No more waiting, no more holding back. I want you now. I'm ready."

His breath was ragged with his need, but he still had to ask, "Are you sure you want it now?"

"I want it more than life.' Celeste moved her hips lower. "You," she kissed him, "are my life, " another, deeper kiss, "and I love you." The third kiss was a mad explosion of passion and desire.

He wanted to be gentle. He didn't want to rush. His experience told him that he could easily slow down, take his time, give more pleasure to both of them before joining. He kissed her breasts lightly, breathing softly over them all the while moving his fingers in and out of her. He also knew that he would follow her – give in to her need with his own, follow her to completion.

"Oh, God, Ducky!" Her hand was sure and steady. He shifted slightly to give her better access but Celeste shifted too, and guided him to her. "I want you NOW!" she breathed.

He slowly removed his fingers and gently slid forward. The slight tightness he felt relaxed and opened wider. Celeste released a tiny gasp followed by a moan. She shifted her hips and he slipped farther in.

"Oh, yes, lover. Do me. Do me good." Celeste whispered.

That had the effect of an electric shock on both of them. He thrust in deep and hard and she rose to meet him again and again.

"Ohhh yes, yes, YES!" Their moans became louder, less articulate as they pressed closer toward climax. Ducky felt her tighten around him again and again and Celeste panted his name.

He couldn't get enough of her. He wanted to go deeper. He thrust himself into her, reveling in the intimacy. A second deep thrust, quickly followed by a third and Celeste climaxed, Ducky seconds behind, answering her yelp of pleasure with what could only be described as a roar.

As he fell back onto the bed, still entwined with his beloved Celeste, he recalled a phrase that she whispered, almost inaudibly as she snuggled against his chest:

"Two became one."

They lay tangled together, panting. Neither seemed inclined to move or even speak. They snuggled closer, Ducky kissing her hair, his hands running through the slightly damp waves, as their breathing normalized, as they came down from the incredible high of their orgasms.

"Oh. My. God." Celeste finally said. "That was amazing."

"I concur. Completely." Ducky smiled at her. "You are amazing." He had never felt so peaceful after making love to anyone before.

_Two became one._

"I love you, Donald Mallard," she sighed.

"I love you, Celeste Porter. Very, very much." He leaned over and gave her a soft, slow kiss.

"Mmmm." Celeste rolled over and reached for her glasses on the bedside table. "Whoa! Look at the time! Hold that thought for later. We've got half an hour to get ready for church. I'm going to take the world's fastest shower, get dressed and make sure Alan is among the living. I'll meet you in the living room in 20 minutes."

"You're going to church?" Ducky grinned. "After that?"

"You better believe it. And, boy, will I be reciting every word of the General Confession with fervor…though not overmuch regret, I'm afraid. The God I know gets it, though. He gets me. He's a bit like you in that, only He can make light, dark, firmaments and stuff like that by just saying the word. You can't quite manage that. But you do other things remarkably well…" Celeste gave him a quick kiss, slipped on her robe and slid out of bed. "Twenty minutes, Lover. Okay?" She walked to the door and headed down the stairs.

"Twenty minutes. Lover," he echoed, grinning as she retreated. He got up and began straightening the ruined bedclothes. As he replaced the sheets to make the bed, he noticed a small spot on the bottom sheet. A tiny bit of blood.

He _had_ gone too fast. Done it too hard. It must have hurt her. In his ardor, _he_ must have hurt her.

He would also pray the General Confession fervently. Because now he might have something to regret.

8


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Ducky did a retouch, applied deodorant and cologne, rebrushed his teeth. He chose a short-sleeved light blue shirt, his school tie from Eton and a navy sport coat over tan dress slacks. He had brought three pairs of shoes with him: his army boots, the worn high-tops and a pair of too-dressy black shoes, which won by default. He'd have to do a bit of shopping later.

He trotted down both flights of stairs with a definite spring in his step and entered the living room. Celeste was applying a light, peachy lip gloss in front of the mirror and Alan was pulling his hair into a pony tail.

Alan grinned at Ducky. "I wish I could find a hangover cure like that!"

"Beg pardon?"

"You look mighty chipper for a guy who was having trouble distinguishing cricket from baseball."

"That's what Ollie was talking about? Baseball?"

"Last thing I remember he was talking about the '68 World Series and how the Tigers came back from a three games to one deficit and won it all. You said you thought the Tigers were from South Africa."

"Talking baseball with Oliver would be enough to put out anyone's lights," Celeste remarked. "No wonder you passed out, Al."

Celeste was wearing a conservative light blue shirt-dress with a button-down collar, open but pulled up to at least partially conceal the rather large purple mark on her neck. Her damp hair was pulled into a tooled leather barette and her legs were lightly tanned and bare. She wore her favorite sandals – the strappy little numbers she was wearing the night she and Ducky met.

She looked fresh and beautiful and Ducky took the time to fall in love with her all over again. He walked over to her and slipped his arm around her waist, resting his hand at the small of her back. "You look delicious," he murmured into her ear. He noticed her signature jasmine perfume. "You smell good, too."

"Mmmm. So do you." She planted a light kiss on his lips.

"Yeah. That hangover cure sure works wonders, man," Alan grinned. "But it's a little noisy."

"Alan! If you were eavesdropping I will…"

"Sis, I didn't need to be plastered to the door to hear it. My room is just below the guest room. Not only was the bed thumping around at very regular intervals, I could hear the springs squeak. And, um, those vocalizations you used? Interesting duet."

Ducky turned red and started laughing. Celeste turned red and had murder in her eyes. "One word, Alan! One word and I will tell Mike that you and Carol got it on at the Fourth of July picnic during the fireworks."

"Those were fireworks all right, elder sister. Celeste was really mad, too, Ducky, because I lost mine before she lost hers."

"Alan, I hate to rain on your parade, but I think I've heard more than I want to hear right now," Ducky gently admonished.

Alan nodded. "Right." He glanced at his reflection. "Well, I look presentable anyway. I still feel like crap. But you don't seem to Ducky!"

"Lay off Alan!" Celeste snapped.

"No, Love. He's right. I'm just fine."

Alan shrugged. "Yeah, well next time I'm either sticking with weed or calling Carol."

Celeste rolled her eyes and grabbed both her brother and her lover by the hands. "Let's just go. Ten minutes. You know how Mrs. Althoff gets with her timing. Old biddy. The later we are, the more she complains to everybody in the congregation."

They walked across the lawn, Celeste and Ducky, hand-in-hand in the lead, Alan a few paces behind. Celeste led them to a side door and skipped up a small flight of stairs leading to a somewhat crowded hallway.

"Grummie!" Celeste gave the tiny grey-haired lady a hug.

"Celeste! Oh, Ducky, dear, you're here. How lovely!" She gave him a hug. "I didn't think you boys would make it. Oliver looks a bit under the weather, but he's here with his father."

"That's great. Where'd they go?"

"They were headed for the sanctuary."

"Thanks, Grum." Celeste kissed her grandmother on the cheek.

"You know, dear, some people aren't going to understand that Ducky's been overseas for fourteen months." Grandma Elizabeth opened her purse and took out a blue printed silk scarf which she proceeded to tie artfully around Celeste's neck. She adjusted the collar of the dress and there was no visible evidence of last evening's encounter.

"This is fantastic! I love you loads!" Celeste waved good-by to her grandmother, then took Ducky by the hand and led him into the sanctuary.

"You have the most amazing family," Ducky whispered in her ear as they walked toward the fifth pew from the front. "It's not everyone that has a grandmother that would cover their butts, or in this case, their hickeys."

"Back in the Twenties she used to be a flapper," Celeste whispered back.

"Not surprised."

She waved at Ollie who was seated next to a middle aged man with long, curly, salt-and-pepper hair. She then gave her friend a thumbs-up, to which Oliver clutched his chest and mock-collapsed in the pew.

"You just told him, didn't you?" Ducky whispered.

Celeste grinned and slid gracefully into the pew. Ducky slid in next to her and watched as she pulled out a hymnal, opened it and handed it to him along with the order of service bulletin.

"Follow along the best you can. I'll help you when you get stuck."

"Do you sing the liturgy?"

"We're Lutherans, Ducky. We'd sing the phone book. Loudly."

Alan slid in at Celeste's other side, grabbing another hymnal and a steno pad that was stuck in the hymnal rack. He flipped it open, past pages of rather good artwork – dragons, knights on horseback, castles and such.

Ducky reached over Celeste's lap to touch Alan's arm. "Did you do that? It's good!"

Alan gave a small smile. "Thanks. But I drew it all when I should have been paying attention to other things."

"Read: Daddy's sermons," Celeste whispered to Ducky. She smiled affectionately at her brother. "But seriously, Sweets, you should see some of his stuff. It's beautiful. You'll have to show him later, Al."

"The one of you in the window seat? That's one of my favorites. And Jess and the cat." He pulled a pencil box out of the hymnal rack.

"I take it this is the Porter family pew?"

Celeste nodded. "Yeah. It's just like home…" She pulled out her own steno pad and flipped it open. It was full of little doodles of suns, moons and stars, cats, daisies and hearts – some with a particular set of initials written inside or embellished around them.

"C.P. plus D.M? Which biblical tenet does that address?" Ducky gave Celeste a gentle jab with his elbow. Celeste blushed.

Ducky found the service a bit hard to follow, but he managed not to stand up at the wrong time or otherwise embarrass himself. He watched the Porter siblings with amusement as they jotted notes during the sermon. Pastor Porter was an engaging speaker and illustrated his points with interesting anecdotes and a good bit of background information. A sizable chunk of this week's sermon was on how the youth of today weren't terribly different from the youth of the past. Even the current sexual revolution had historical precedence. Today's youth should be prayed for so the mistakes of the past would not be repeated.

The three occupants of the fifth pew from the front snorted simultaneously. Ducky's stray thought was: "Too late, Daddy." Celeste and Alan kept writing, however.

At the end of the service, people started swarming Celeste and Ducky before they could escape. Countless welcomes – to Atonement, to Clinton Park, to America . Innumerable handshakes and backslaps. A couple of dinner invitations. Names, faces and relationships were flying so fast and thick, Ducky couldn't keep up.

"George!" Ducky smiled, finally recognizing a face.

"Nice to see you, Ducky. This is my wife, Vera. I told her I'd driven you up the Gratiot route."

"Indeed! A pleasure Mrs. Knoff."

Vera Knoff smiled shyly. "Nice to meet you. Doctor." She turned to her husband. "You didn't mention he was so young, George. And that he has such a beautiful speaking voice. A beautiful accent." She sighed.

Celeste looked at him wryly. "Be prepared to get a lot of that from now on. Women will be hanging on your every word just to listen to you speak. British accents can melt the coldest of hearts."

"Oh. That's what it was. Here I thought it was just my natural, irresistible charm and wit."

"There are so many replies I could make to that. None of them would be appropriate to this venue, however."

The sanctuary eventually cleared and Ducky and Celeste were able to make it to the side door where Ollie was waiting with his father.

"Hey, Doc! This is my Dad. Maurice Johnston. Dad, this is Doctor Ducky Mallard."

"Very nice to meet you." Ollie's father mirrored his son's height and grey eyes, but was slimmer and projected a quieter aura. The older man smiled as he shook Ducky's hand. "Oliver always speaks so well of you, Doctor."

"As he does of you, sir. Very pleased to meet you."

Ollie, though he had issues with his father, was far more likely to have problems with his thrice-married mother or his two younger half-sisters. Ducky recalled a couple of heartfelt conversations he and Ollie had in London about the difficulties one could have with parents.

Ducky drew Ollie off to the side, away from Celeste who had started chatting with Mr. Johnston. Ollie was grinning like an idiot. "Congrats, Doc. Really. Couldn't happen to a greater girl than Celeste. And here," he held up the keys to his Mustang, "are the well-earned keys to your chariot."

"Ollie," Ducky said in confidential tones, "I'm wondering if you can help me out a bit here. I really want everything to be perfect when we get there and I wondered if you knew where I could get some yellow roses? I realize that's almost impossible on a Sunday."

"Give me a tough one, Doc. Dad's a florist. And if you want to give me a little time, I can go up first and set things up just the way you'd like them and leave a few surprises for the two of you."

"That would be fantastic! Is there a tea kettle and loose tea there? A record player or stereo?"

"Don't worry, Doc. I know what would work for the two of you. Most of Celly's favorite records are mine too, and I'm pretty sure I have a handle on your favorite snacks and munchies. You'll probably be working up an appetite. Tom Miller's store is just a mile from there and he's got everything, so if I forget something you can just go over there. He's open til eleven every night, including Sunday."

"Great. But what should we do on the way there? Yes, I wanted to take her out for a nice luncheon, but how long will you need?"

Ollie looked at his watch. "It's twelve thirty now. Get there any time after four thirty and you'll be fine. I should be long gone. The best place I know between here and there is Gus' Chop House out on Anchor Bay. It necessitates taking the very long route up to the cottage, but Celeste will be able to get there. She's driven up dozens of times, both the short way and the long. The long route takes you along Lake St Clair and the St Clair River. I suggest a stop at either Fort Gratiot Park or Riverside Walkway so you can look at the lake freighters. They are mind-blowingly big boats! Celeste loves watching them. That will kill an hour easily."

"What's going to kill an hour?" Celeste rejoined them, sipping her arm around Ducky's waist. He automatically reciprocated.

"Look at that. Joined at the hip," remarked Ollie.

"Well, some of us have more interesting hips than others." Celeste giggled.

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with your hips, Celeste." Ducky sipped both arms around hers and pulled her closer to illustrate.

"You know what I mean," she countered. _**"Mallard."**_

"Well, guys, I've gotta split. Stuff to do with the Old Man. Y'know." Ollie shrugged. "Fill me in later, Celly. I'm sure there'll be a lot more to tell next time. Though it would be a pretty good conversation right now, I'll bet." He grinned. "Well, kids, don't do anything I wouldn't do. Wait. You're going to be doing a whole lot of stuff I wouldn't do…Enjoy yourselves – like you won't." Ollie trotted off toward his father's truck.

"Did he give you the keys to the Green Machine?" Celeste asked.

Ducky held them up.

She snatched them.

"Hey!"

"Point one: We drive on the right-hand side of the road and our steering columns are on the left-hand side of the car. Point two: Do you have any idea where Lexington is?"

"Well, it was renamed Laxton, but was the namesake of several towns in America during the colonization…then, of course, there's Lexington Street in Soho…remember going down there? And…"

"Honestly!" She stopped him with a kiss.

"Hey there, you two!"

"Daddy!"

Carl Porter had a half amused, half resigned expression on his face. "It was nice seeing you in church this morning, Dr. Mallard. I'm glad Celeste persuaded you to come."

The double meaning almost caused Ducky to explode into laughter. Celeste took a deep breath and buried her face in his shoulder. He knew she couldn't trust herself.

"Yes. Well. Celeste is very persuasive when she sets her mind to something." He patted her back and avoided looking her in the face. She couldn't look at Ducky either.

"Well, we certainly know that by now," Pastor Porter replied. "Have you two decided where you are going to spend the day?"

Celeste drew a deep breath and turned around to face her father. "Well, Ollie said we could go swimming up at his Mom's place in Lexington. So we're headed there."

"I thought we'd stop for a nice luncheon on the way. Oliver told me about a nice place on Anchor Bay. Gus'?"

"Oh yes! A great place. Best fish anywhere around. You must try the pickerel. It's wonderful."

"Absolutely! Gus'? Sweets, that's a glorious place. It's right on the bay and the boaters all come in. Nice and casual but great food! I hope we can get a table by the window."

"How about I call for a reservation for you? I've known Gus for a long time. He might be able to do something for you."

"Oh, Daddy. That's so sweet of you! Thank you. That would be great."

"Nothing's too good for my Little Girl." He reached over and chucked her chin. "Your mother is right. You two look very happy together. She even said you look like you belong together. Not sure I'm ready to go that far yet, but you do look very happy."

"Oh, Daddy, we are. We really are."

"Drive carefully. And your mother says 'no curfew.' I'm not about to argue with her, so there you are." Pastor Porter turned and walked toward the house.

"'I'm glad Celeste persuaded you to come…' Well, yes, Pastor Porter, so am I. Very glad. And I intend to come again and again!" Ducky hugged Celeste and started laughing.

Celeste laughed until tears came to her eyes. "Jeez, Mallard, I'm surprised you lost the poker game to that Marine. That was a great non-reaction." She giggled some more. "Let's go pack our bathing suits and overnight things. No curfew means we are NOT driving home tonight."

"Which means we get to sleep under the same roof without the family poking around."

"Even better. It means we're going to be sleeping under the same blanket."

Ducky grinned wickedly. "Only after we're really, really tired."

Celeste blushed. They slipped their arms around each other's waists and walked toward the house.

7


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

"No. You have to order the pickerel. You won't believe how good it is."

"But I don't know _what_ it is. Other than it's a type of fish." Ducky looked at the menu somewhat skeptically.

"You like fish."

"Not _all_ fish. I don't like tuna. Nor do I care overmuch for salmon, which probably makes me a very bad Scot."

"Well, it's nothing like those. It's also called walleye. It's fished locally. Supposedly loaded with mercury, but if you don't eat it more than twice a week you're fine. I guarantee it's worth the heavy metal risk."

"You're not doing anything to persuade me, Love. If anything, you're making the New York strip steak look a lot better."

"Have you no spirit of adventure?" Celeste was all but pouting.

"All right." Ducky relented. "The pickerel it is."

Celeste leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You won't regret it, Sweets. I promise!"

Ducky ordered the two pickerel dinners. Celeste wanted a baked potato, broccoli and a salad. Ducky chose potato wedges, peas and the house special beef and barley soup. He offered to order a carafe of wine but Celeste declined. She was driving and didn't want to be careless. He ordered half a carafe of Chardonnay, thinking he might cajole her into half a glass with the meal.

They got the window seat Celeste had hoped for. And Gus Tomaskelis, the owner himself, made sure they got top-notch service.

"Anything at all you want, you just ask. Your papa brings good business my way always. He's a good man. He helped my boy get into a good school, too. Wrote a nice letter to Rochester Institute of Technology. He's an engineer now. At Xerox company."

"Alex used to do all the yard work at the church. Daddy always laments that he still hasn't found anyone as good. I remember." Celeste smiled. "I was pretty little then."

"You still are a pretty little thing, Miss Celeste. I remember the big brown eyes and thinking 'somebody will fall hard for those pretty eyes.' And I see that somebody has."

Ducky had to smile. "You may just be right about that, Mr. Tomaskelis."

"Please. I am Gus. Just as you say you are Ducky. We are all friends here. I will see that you get the best meal of your life now." He clapped Ducky on the shoulder and headed back to the kitchen.

"This really is a nice view." The bay was full of pleasure boats of all shapes and sizes, enjoying the water on a bright summer day. There were even some water-skiers being towed along at breakneck speed. Ducky grinned as one of them wiped out. "I bet that hurt!"

"It depends on how you fall. She fell right, so she'll just float there until they come around for her."

"It looks like fun. Have you ever water skied?"

"I tried it a couple of times. Ollie's stepdad has a good boat for it. It's easier on the bay, I think, because the water is more sheltered, fewer currents and less undertow. I did it out on Lake Huron. That was kind of crazy. It was a bit like being lost at sea."

Ducky watched another boat speed by, towing another skier. "I still say it looks like fun."

"I'll have Ollie put in a good word for you."

The soup and salad arrived along with Ducky's wine and Celeste's drink, a locally produced soda pop called Vernor's ginger ale. Celeste's eyes lit up as the waitress set it in front of her. "Oh, this is one of the joys of being from Michigan." She took a sip and rolled her eyes ecstatically. "You must taste this, my love."

Ducky took the glass she offered and began to drink. Before he actually got any liquid to his mouth, however, he started coughing. The bubbles from the carbonation shot straight up his nose, reminiscent of Champagne, but with about four times the impact.

"Technique, my love. There is a technique to this. You must not inhale at all while bringing the glass to your lips," Celeste instructed as she buttered her dinner roll.

"Do I have to? This stuff seems pretty deadly."

"Nonsense. All Michigan toddlers take this as a palliative for upset tummies and flu bugs. We also don't put sugar in iced tea. We Michiganders are of strong stock." She took a bite of the roll.

Ducky tried again. This time the bubbles caused no problems, though as he swallowed, he coughed slightly. Then he was overwhelmed by the flavor of ginger – very strong, but sweeter than any ginger beers he'd tried. Still, it offered a bit of a burn.

"I think," he said, returning the glass to Celeste, "that it might be an acquired taste."

"Wimp." She took a sizable swallow.

Ducky smiled, shook his head and reached over to place his hand over hers as it rested on the edge of the table. "You will have to be strong for the both of us, Love." Celeste rolled her eyes and tackled her salad.

Ducky found the soup quite good; thick and almost stew-like with good-sized chunks of beef and a flavorful broth. He was quite hungry, having missed breakfast. Not that missing a meal would be harmful. As for the reason he missed it, well, it was an excellent excuse. And refueling now would make future skipped or delayed meals less critical…

Celeste had changed clothes after church and now wore an off-white sundress, the top doing double duty as her bra. The thin straps were tied on each of her shoulders and it laced, corset-like, down the back. He started to imagine untying and unlacing and a small sigh escaped. The high-waisted skirt consisted of bands of a scalloped eyelet lace and fell straight just topping her knees, her bare legs accented by her favorite sandals. She had a colorful shawl draped over the back of her chair. The intent was to use it as a wrap should the air conditioning become too intense, but Ducky fervently hoped she wouldn't need it.

The entrees arrived, much to Celeste's delight. Each plate contained two good sized filets, lightly breaded and pan fried. She peeled the foil off her baked potato and slathered it with butter, sour cream and black pepper before smashing it all into a pulpy mess with her fork.

Ducky frowned. "Manners, Celeste. Where are they?"

"We're in America now, my darling. No one pays attention. At least as long as I don't put my face into it. Now that would be bad manners." She grinned and squeezed a lemon wedge all over her fish. "Go ahead and look all sophisticated and European. No one will notice that, either." She started dismantling the filets. "Be sure you watch out for the occasional stray bone. Pickerel are notoriously bony, but not as bad as lake perch. Which are also a tasty treat!"

Ducky cut his fish with surgical precision, examining each section for bone fragments. The fish was white, very flaky, and very tender. Celeste was done with half of her first filet when he finally tried a piece.

The pickerel was slightly sweet, without any strong, fishy taste at all. The light breading had a perfect crunchy consistency. Ducky smiled slightly as he tried another bite and was delighted by how delicate the flavor was.

"Told you!" Celeste was cutting up the broccoli and mixing it with the potato.

"It's very good. What are you doing, for heaven's sake? Are you planning on eating it or playing in it?"

"I'm creating. And yes, I will eat it. The combination is very tasty."

He frowned a bit as he watched her take a surprisingly lady-like forkful of the mashed up mess and put it into her mouth. He shrugged and went back to his own meal. That she could eat with proper decorum was not in doubt. She did it admirably well when she met his parents in London. She still failed to impress Mother, but that had as much to do with a wardrobe malfunction than with Celeste's etiquette. The wayward knickers impressed Father, however.

They enjoyed a leisurely paced meal, capped off by desserts of baklava for Ducky and chocolate raspberry torte for Celeste. Gus also came out with a fresh-fruit tart for them to take with them and all desserts were on the house. Ducky made sure to tip generously, for the service was as good (if not better) than any he had had anywhere before. And he had to admit, he enjoyed the food.

When they got back to the car, Ducky looked at the vehicle enviously. Celeste got in and pressed the release to the convertible top. "Hey, Mallard! Help me lock the top down. And stop looking at the Green Machine that way. I'm going to get jealous."

He secured the ragtop on the passenger's side. "I'd love to drive it. This is one nice car."

"As nice as that Morgan you and Francis were always tinkering with?"

"In a different, more modern way. This is fantastic! A Mustang, Ollie said?"

Celeste nodded. "Ollie's stepdad is a vice-president at Ford. He got it for a song and gave it to Ollie for his sixteenth birthday."

"I got a Mini Cooper for my sixteenth birthday. Almost as big as a telephone booth."

"Must have cramped your make-out style." Celeste grinned.

"I had to look to other venues," Ducky returned wickedly.

Celeste huffed disapprovingly. "I feel a headache coming on."

"I'm a doctor. I can take care of that," he winked.

"I'll just bet you can." Celeste slid back into the driver's seat.

Ducky hopped in beside her. "I still want to drive it."

"Everything's right-handed. Including the side of the road we drive on. I don't think you're ready for it. You've barely been here twenty-four hours."

"I've been to America before, Celeste. I spent four weeks here one summer."

"Really? When?"

Ducky thought a moment. "1950."

"You were ten!"

"Almost, actually. One of Mother's brothers took a job in New York City and he moved his family here to Connecticut. They thought it would be nice if I came over and kept my cousins company. We had a great time."

"Get a lot of driving in, did you?" Celeste started the engine.

"No. But there were hot dogs and hamburgers and every kind of flavor of ice cream imaginable. We played Tarzan in the woods and there was a playground with swings, slides and a carrousel. It was glorious. Heaven for an almost ten year old."

Celeste put on her sunglasses. "Sounds like it. My wild-child sister would love it." she smiled put the Mustang in reverse and eased out of the parking space.

God, she was gorgeous. She looked as fresh as a summer day in her sundress, with her hair pulled into a bun, sitting primly at the nape of her neck. Celeste pulled the car out onto the Lake Road and headed north. Ducky leaned back, the sun and wind in his hair and enjoyed the ride. The water was a brilliant blue as they slid past, green fields and woods, clusters of houses, little crossroads communities all ambled by. It was a wonderful, leisurely trip.

The pulled into a town and Ducky noticed the lake narrow into a smaller channel. "We're now going north along the St. Clair River," Celeste explained. "The land you see across the way is Ontario, Canada."

"You are the prettiest tour guide I've ever had." He squeezed her knee.

"And hopefully the only one you've ever deflowered." She gave him a sidelong grin.

"Of course! But there was a library aide…"

Celeste whacked him across the chest. "Just because I don't have a past doesn't mean I want to hear about yours!"

"Ow! Point taken."

The car eased along the highway past cottages, summer homes, campgrounds and parks. Pleasure craft dotted the river. As Celeste rounded a bend, Ducky saw a huge vessel on the water, clearly a ship, but a configuration he had never seen before. It was incredibly long, but narrower than any sea going ship he'd ever seen.

"What kind of ship is that?"

"That's a lake freighter. Big, isn't it?" Celeste smiled.

"Huge! How long is it do you suppose?"

"Some of the new ones are 1,000 feet long. That's an older one. Probably a 500 footer or less. They are the coolest things. Grummie and Gruppie used to have a cottage along the river. We lived there in the summers when we were kids. At night the freighters have lights all along the sides and red or green lights in the port or starboard sections of the wheelhouse. They look like dragons in the night. You'll see later, after it gets dark."

"When it gets dark, Celeste, I have no intention of looking out at the water. There will be much more interesting and beautiful things to hold my attention."

"Oh?" Celeste quirked a smile. "How do you know?"

"I've seen you naked. A real attention grabber, that!"

"You are the most incorrigible man!"

"I love it when you ingorrige me!"

She sighed. "I should just pull over and kick you out. People have been abandoned for far lesser offenses."

"You should just let me drive. I promise to be quiet. No puns. No groping. But you may feel free to do so at any time."

Celeste shook her head. "No way, bub. Do you even have any idea where the cottage is?"

"Somewhere on this road. On the next big lake. Keep the water on the right and we should be fine."

"And that's how you found your way through the jungle? I'm surprised you're not still wandering around Southeast Asia."

"You mean this isn't Thailand?"

"I am not letting you drive. Maybe on the way home. If you're very good."

"Compared to…?"

Celeste shot him a dark look. "No more comments from the peanut gallery. Shut up and enjoy the ride."

Ducky leaned back and let Celeste continue. He glanced at his watch. It was 2:30. He wanted to get there after 4:30 in order to give Ollie time to get things set up, and he had no idea how much farther they had to go.

"How much longer until we get there, Love?"

"About an hour. Why? Getting antsy?" Celeste gave him a Cheshire Cat smile.

He smiled back at her. "No. Not really. At least now I know just _how_ worth waiting for you are. And believe me. You are."

Celeste smiled sweetly and blushed. Ducky wished they would stop – even at a traffic light – so he could give her a kiss. But the road continued to wind around next to the River, past cottage after cottage.

They passed an electric power station with tall smokestacks, a corresponding set of chimneys on the Canadian side.

"Hydroelectric power?" Ducky asked.

"No. Sadly, it's coal. It messes up the water all around. There are petroleum refineries in Sarnia, Ontario, too, and there was a spill there a couple of years ago. It was a hideous mess."

"Aren't there regulations about allowing such things?"

"Not enough, though they are working on improving them and becoming stricter when it comes to pollution. There's still a long way to go."

They continued on for awhile. Ducky wondered what could buy a bit of time. They drove past a sign: "Welcome to St. Clair, Michigan, Home of the World's Longest Freshwater Boardwalk."

"World's longest freshwater boardwalk? Where's that?"

"Riverview Park. It's not that long, really, but nobody's tried to dispute it yet, so the village of St. Clair is going to claim it. It's nice there, though. A very pretty walk. If you want to stop we could get an ice cream at Stroh's and watch the boats."

"Sounds wonderful. Especially the ice cream part."

"We just finished eating an hour ago. Don't tell me you're hungry." Celeste gave him a sidelong glance.

"I skipped breakfast. And you were complaining about how thin I am. So what could be better than some ice cream to put me back on track? American ice cream is so much better than British ice cream. I still remember that from when I spent time with my cousins."

They pulled into a parking lot next to a cluster of stores. A sign over one of the doors said "Stroh's Ice Cream Parlor." Celeste parked and turned off the ignition.

Before she could open the door, Ducky pulled her into an embrace, then a tender kiss. "I've been wanting to do that for quite awhile now," he whispered into her hair.

"The ulterior motive for ice cream?" Celeste leaned against his shoulder and smiled.

"No. I still want some. But I want you more." He kissed her again.

When they finally broke away Celeste smiled. "I love you, Donald Mallard."

"And I love you, Celeste Porter." He kissed her cheek as she opened the door.

They entered the ice cream parlor and stood hand-in-hand reading the menu board behind the counter. Stroh's proudly made their own ice cream and had some thirty flavors available as cones or dishes. Other ice cream treats were also available – milkshakes, sodas, sundaes, floats, and something called a Boston Cooler, consisting of a blend of vanilla ice cream and Vernor's ginger ale.

"I just want a cone, Ducky. One scoop. Not sure which flavor yet." Celeste bit her lip as she read over the choices.

Ducky was overwhelmed. There was orange pineapple, coconut, chocolate ripple, butter brickle, mint chocolate chip, rainbow sherbet. How could he decide? There was an intriguingly named flavor called "Blue Moon." He looked into the freezer case and saw that the ice cream was indeed blue. But what flavor was it?

"It's sort of a fruity pineapple flavor. But the coloring they use does strange things to the digestive system," Celeste supplied. "It doesn't make you ill or hurt, but it's rather surprising..."

"I know where you're going with this. Please say no more. I shall decline that flavor in favor of…the Rocky Road."

"Excellent choice, sir."

"And a scoop of coconut."

Celeste grinned. "Even better!" She tapped her chin with her finger, still thinking. "I'll have a single scoop of the strawberry ice."

The clerk dipped their cones expertly and handed them to Ducky, while Celeste grabbed a handful of paper napkins from the dispenser and stuffed them in Ducky's shirt pocket. "It's sunny and hot. We'll need these." Ducky paid for the ice cream and they left the store.

Celeste led Ducky across the main street to the park. The River traffic was heavy with boats of all shapes and sizes. A large lake freighter was passing, heading north, and another was coming downriver, heading south. The northbound freighter blew one long blast on the whistle. The other ship responded with the same.

"That means they're going to pass each other port to port," Celeste informed Ducky.

The ship traveling upriver glided past them as they stood at the railing of the boardwalk. It was painted brown and yellow and the smokestack had a star with the letter "C" inside it. The ship's name was at the bow – "Edmund Fitzgerald."

"That's a big one," Ducky commented.

"One of them. There are longer and wider ones now, though. But the Big Fitz was one of the biggest when she launched."

"Impressive."

"They are, especially if you've never seen one before."

Ducky grinned. "Not the ships. You. You know so much about them."

Celeste shook her head. "I've just spent my life around them. That's all. You almost learn it by osmosis."

They walked down the boardwalk, past some kids busy throwing chunks of bread into the water. Gulls screamed and wheeled around, trying to snatch the bread away from the intended recipients – a small flock of Mallard ducks.

"Nice of the rest of your family to join us." Celeste popped the last of her ice cream cone into her mouth. She grabbed a napkin from his pocket, then slipped behind him and placed her hand strategically on his left hip. "An amazing likeness." She kissed the back of his neck.

"Oh, Love," Ducky threw the remainder of his cone into a nearby trash can. "Do not," he turned around to face her, slipped his arms around her and pulled her close, "get me started."

Celeste put her arms around his shoulders and pressed against him. "Hmmm…" she leaned forward strategically. "I think it's too late for that." They eased into a kiss.

The Edmund Fitzgerald had slipped around the next bend in the river before they broke apart.

9


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

After a leisurely stroll along the boardwalk, punctuated by many long, slow kisses, Ducky and Celeste made their way back to Ollie's car. Ducky glanced at his watch: 3:45. He guessed enough time had been bought for them to get to the cottage and avoid Ollie. And he _really_ wanted to get to the cottage. He was aching to get Celeste out of that sundress..

"How much longer until we're there?" he asked as Celeste pulled onto the road.

"No longer than forty-five minutes, Sweets. Thirty if I gun it and there are no cops."

Ducky grinned. "Open her up. I'd love to feel this baby fly."

"Hang on until Bypass Road . Five miles through the woods. Minimal patrols. That ought to shave off some minutes." Celeste shifted into third. A few minutes later River Drive forked into Bypass and Washington . Celeste took the left fork onto Bypass, then made a couple of quick shifts into fourth. The Mustang purred as it revved. Celeste applied her right foot to the pedal and eased the car up to 70, 75, 80 miles per hour.

Bypass Road was straight and long. Great for stretching the Mustang's legs. And Celeste looked beautiful and wild and free as she sped along, the wind loosening her hair from the restriction of the bun. Ducky was so turned on he was practically breathless.

The road was clear. No oncoming traffic, nor were any cars in the lane ahead of them. That's why Ducky was surprised to see a car coming up behind them, very fast. He turned around in time to see the lights on top start flashing.

"Shit!" Celeste slowed down and pulled over. She looked at Ducky and shrugged. "I'll try to handle this. I'm not really good at it, but I'll give it my best shot." She reached into the back seat for her purse and pulled the registration card out of the glove compartment. She slipped both spaghetti straps off her shoulders and took off her prescription sunglasses, which gave her a slightly vacant look. She pushed out her chest a bit.

The Michigan State Trooper walked up to the driver's side of the car. He was very tall and probably in his mid-twenties. He pulled out his ticket book, then stopped and looked down at Celeste, who returned his look with remorseful, slightly teary brown eyes.

"Miss," the policeman began as he directed his gaze downward from Celeste's stricken face. He caught his breath, then coughed. "Do you have any idea," he cleared his throat, "how fast you were going?"

"I'm so sorry, officer," Celeste batted her eyelashes, "I'm afraid I don't."

Ducky put his head down and watched the exchange out of the corner of his eye. If he looked at her directly, he would put everything in jeopardy by laughing. This way he could at least keep some semblance of a serious countenance. But, blimey, the woman was bloody brilliant.

"May I see your license and registration, please?" the cop asked tersely.

"Oh! Of course, officer!" Celeste jiggled slightly as she opened her purse and pulled out her wallet. As she handed the requested documents over and pulled back her arm, the shoulder strap fell even lower. She didn't bother to straighten it, even though the top wasn't concealing very much any longer. The policeman continued looking at her chest.

He finally glanced at the license and registration cards. "This car isn't registered to you Miss…" he looked at the license again, "…Porter. It's registered to an Oliver Johnston. Is that you, sir?" he addressed Ducky.

"No. I'm Donald Mallard." He reached in his jacket pocket for his passport. As he did, his hand brushed against a small, square velvet box. A box that had come all the way from Hong Kong . "Here is my identification." The policeman took it.

"Mr. Johnston is a friend of mine," Celeste leaned forward a bit. "He loaned us his car for the day so Doctor Mallard and I could drive up to Ollie's summer home in Lexington ." She flashed a dazzling smile. "Is that all right, Officer…?"

His eyes were fixed on Celeste's cleavage again. "Hermann. Officer Hermann," he managed to stammer. "Joe Hermann."

"Oh. Officer Joe." Celeste giggled a bit and shrugged enough to start jiggling again.

The policeman was all but drooling and Ducky knew exactly how he felt. His mouth was starting to water, too. Never mind what was happening inside his boxers.

Officer Hermann checked the registration against the license plate and VIN number. He flipped open Ducky's passport and checked it, then walked around to the back of the car. "Could you open the trunk, Miss Porter?"

"Oh! Certainly." She slid out of the front seat and straightened the straps on her sundress. She took the keys out of the ignition and undulated toward the rear of the vehicle in a way Ducky had never seen her undulate before. He approved. Of every sway of her hips.

Celeste opened the trunk and Officer Hermann examined the contents. Aside from a toolbox and the spare tire, there were only two overnight bags and the food from Gus's.

"It seems that everything's in order." He handed Celeste her documents and returned Ducky's passport. "Miss Porter, I would suggest you use a bit more caution on your way to Lexington . I'm not sure any of my colleagues will be as understanding."

"Oh, I'll be much more carefuller, Officer Joe," Celeste grinned, giggled and jiggled some more. "Thank you!" She slid back into the driver's seat, put the documents away, put on her sunglasses and started the engine.

Ducky sat, slightly open-mouthed. "What the hell did I just see?"

Celeste put the car in gear and eased onto the road, the patrol car right behind her. "Oh. Didn't you notice the Bimbo License?" she grinned. "I thought he was going to lose his eyeballs. Is that medically possible?"

"Not from looking at your bosom. But Jesus, Celeste. I'm more than ready to take you to bed right now! The fellow didn't have a chance."

"Keep it zipped, Stud. I'll be all yours in about half an hour or so. If the traffic through Port Huron at the bridge cooperates, anyway."

Lake Huron narrowed into the St. Clair River at Port Huron, a moderately small city. The traffic was rather heavy at the Blue Water Bridge to Canada , but Celeste managed to find shortcuts around the worst of it and they made it to the north end of town none the worse for wear. Then they were able to open up again on M-23.

The road veered slightly away from the lake. Along the road Ducky noticed a variety of walls, fences and hedges, each split by a driveway and some marked by signs saying things like,"Lake Views " " Rocky Beach " "Sunrise Cottage" and so forth. Celeste slowed and put on her signal. She turned right at a stone wall with a sign stating "Windy Shores" and drove into a driveway flanked by trees. The driveway wound through a nicely manicured woodlot and stopped at a Tudor-style house.

"Welcome," said Celeste as she put the Mustang into park, "to Windy Shores. Summer home of Mr. and Mrs. Martin Grayson. Or winter, spring and fall home. They're here on weekends most of the year. This is also party central the weekends they aren't around during the school year."

"I shudder to think." Ducky stood beside the car and looked around. It seemed very quiet and sheltered here. The neighboring houses were a fair distance away and separated by a stone wall. He liked the thought of privacy – and probably Ollie and Celeste's college friends did too.

Celeste unlocked the trunk and Ducky picked up their bags. Celeste took the bag containing the food from Gus and slammed the trunk shut. "We'll probably have to go up to Miller's and get things for dinner and breakfast. I don't know how many provisions there are right now."

"We'll manage." Ducky followed her as she unlocked the door and went in.

He heard her gasp as the door opened. "Oh my God! Ducky – how did you…?" Celeste stood in the foyer, amazed. On almost every free table, shelf or other flat surface was a vase of yellow roses, accented by baby's breath. Some places had a single rose in a bud vase, while other locations had vases holding larger bouquets. On the center of the dining room table was a huge arrangement of multi-colored flowers – lilies, daisies, irises, carnations – anchored by yellow roses. "I don't believe this! It's so beautiful!"

Celeste put the bag with the tart on the nearest table and gave Ducky a huge hug. "Ollie was in on this. You two were plotting."

He smiled as he held her. "Well…We talked about it."

"I love you. And Ollie. This is so – beautiful." She grabbed the dessert and took it into the kitchen.

Ducky stood and stared. It could hardly be considered a cottage. This was a beautiful home. The foyer opened onto several rooms and it was all open, airy and full of windows, bringing in light. As Celeste began cranking open windows and opening shades, Ducky began exploring the house. On the table next to the television in the living room, Ducky found an envelope addressed "Doc." He opened it to find Ollie's distinctive handwriting:

"Doc:

"I enlisted Alan's help because I wanted to set up the brass bed in the sunroom. Celly loves that room and loves that brass bed and she's told me rather elaborate fantasies about what she'd do in that situation. I imagine you are going to be one lucky guy. Certainly scoring. A lot. All those pre-mins that were hot on her tail will be envious. Especially of you getting the tail.

"Dad had an overshipment of the yellows – well, a wedding got cancelled. Talk about serendipity! No need to make anything up to me. I'm just glad you two are back together.

"There's food – ice cream, sundae fixings. Potato chips – crisps, you mangy Brit, I know! And Celly's favorite onion dip. Watch her, 'cause she'll put it on everything. Even ice cream I suspect, but I'm not real sure. You'll have to ask her. Jesus, the woman eats snails so God knows what she'll try! (Betcha YOU know! Ha ha!)

"There are also some really nice steaks that I found at Miller's. You can either use the grill or cook them on the stove. And I got bacon, eggs and sausages, some milk, coffee and tea – bags only, sorry. They didn't have loose.

"Do lots of things I wouldn't do! See you later!

"Ollie"

Ducky re-folded the note and put it back in the envelope just as Celeste came into the room. "What's that?" she asked.

"A note from Ollie saying he laid in some provisions."

"Laid?"

"He didn't use the term. I did."

"Not surprising, oh randy one." She raised the shades and opened the windows. "You should see the view from the sunroom. It's beautiful." Celeste grabbed him by the hand. "Come on! It's upstairs!"

She pulled him up the curved staircase. The top of the stairs was like a second living room. The upper floor was even more open and bright due to skylights and a bank of windows on the eastern side that gave a panoramic view of Lake Huron.

"Wow! This is impressive. It's like an ocean view." Ducky followed Celeste to the windows and noticed even more flower arrangements around the room.

"Ooooh!" Celeste squealed when she saw the brass bed in the center of the room beneath a skylight. There was a yellow rose on each pillow and the white comforter was scattered with rose petals. "Ollie is amazing! How in the world did he do it? This bed is from the master bedroom downstairs!"

"I suspect he had some help," Ducky offered.

"Not his dad! Maurice was going to a gallery opening this afternoon. One of his pieces was being shown. Maurice is a sculptor as well as a florist. Guess what pays the bills?"

"Not too hard to figure out," Ducky looked at the spectacular lake view again. "Ummm, no. Not his father. According to the note it was Alan."

Celeste frowned. "Check the room for listening devices and hidden cameras. That creep is bound to have set something up." She dove under the bed.

"I knew it!" came her muffled voice, "Three slats are missing! That weasel! And Ollie had to be in on it, too! They will die the next time I see them!" She pulled herself out and stood up, red-faced and disheveled.

"Relax, Love. They must have left the missing slats someplace. We'll find them, put the bed back together and test it, just to make sure it works properly." Ducky flashed a wicked grin.

Celeste shook her head. "Your father once told me he didn't feel you were focused enough. I beg to differ." With that, she put her arms around him and drew him into a very passionate kiss.

"Let's go find those missing slats," Ducky said at last, holding Celeste close. "We really need to get this bed back together."

She sighed deeply. "I agree."

They held each other for awhile, reluctant to break the reverie.

Celeste sighed and broke away. "Let's start looking, Sweets. I'll check the upstairs, you check downstairs and if we have no luck, we'll check the garage, boathouse and shed."

Ducky trotted down the stairs and opened the first closed door he came upon. It opened into a small bedroom containing twin beds and rather little girlish accoutrements. Ollie's sisters' room, no doubt. He checked the closet, under both beds and behind the dresser. Nothing.

Next, the downstairs bathroom. Not in the shower or the linen cabinet.

The next room had to be the Master Bedroom. It was large, airy and faced the lake. It also had a sofa in the center of the room where the bed would normally sit. Ducky knelt down and felt around underneath. His hand hit something wooden. He tugged and out came a bed slat. He reached under the sofa again, but he came up empty. He gave visual inspection and could see nothing else underneath.

He went to the bedroom door. "Found one!" He shouted up to Celeste.

"Good!" she yelled back. "Keep looking!"

Ducky continued to check the bedroom, but nothing else appeared. He went into the living room next and started checking behind and beneath the furniture.

"Found another one!" he heard Celeste cry out. Ducky bounded up the stairs with his slat to see Celeste emerge from a back room carrying a slat. She looked a bit dusty.

"Those assholes put it in the crawlspace! Start writing their eulogies! I'm a filthy, dusty, dirty, sweaty mess!" Most of her hair had fallen out of the bun and her lovely white dress had grey dust bunnies clinging to it. Her face and arms were smudged with dirt. "Come on, Mallard. Let's reassemble the bed. Then I'm going for a swim!"

They went back into the sunroom. "Seems almost a shame to take it apart with all the rose petals strewn about," commented Ducky.

"Rip off the comforter. We'll vacuum later!" Celeste was becoming crankier. Ducky decided to be quiet and follow her lead. It felt safer to do so.

They managed to take apart the bedclothes and move the mattress aside – no small task for two people wrestling with a queen-size bed. The box spring was in two sections, so it was much easier to maneuver. The slats were replaced, they wrestled the springs and mattress back together and replaced the bedclothes. Celeste grabbed a couple of droopy roses from an arrangement and removed the petals, tossing them across the comforter. She sat down on the bed.

"So. Where did you put the overnight bags?"

Ducky sat down beside her. "Still in the foyer."

She leaned against him, he put his arm around her. "I need my bathing suit. Sorry. It's not a bikini. The water is too damn cold."

"That's disappointing." He started untying one of the shoulder straps on Celeste's sundress. She offered no protest so he undid the other and pulled her closer. He kissed her as he cupped one of her exposed breasts. "This, however, is not disappointing at all."

"Oh, Sweets," Celeste pouted, "I feel so dirty and grungy. Would you mind if I took a swim? You could too. You have trunks, don't you?"

Ducky sighed. "I have a pair of cut-offs. Alan said they'd be fine when I asked what I should do since I don't have any trunks."

"Good suggestion. Too bad I have to kill him. Come on, sweetheart. Let's get ready to hit the beach." She stood up, shimmied out of the sundress, tossed it onto a chair and headed downstairs dressed in nothing but a very tiny pair of polka-dot bikini knickers.

Ducky followed her immediately like a very happy puppy.

While Celeste was changing, he slipped into the denim cut offs he borrowed from Alan and one of his olive drab tee shirts. Alan was taller than Ducky and Ducky thought Alan was slimmer, but the shorts fit well. He realized that Celeste might be right – that he had lost weight, though he knew for a fact he had gained muscle. There weren't always corpsmen about when patients needed to be moved or lifted. And there were far too many occasions in Viet Nam when the term "dead weight" tragically matched its meaning.

Celeste's bathing suit was actually a two-piece number with a high-waisted bottom and halter top that definitely accentuated her assets. The swirling paisley print worked to improve the effect. Ducky approved heartily when he saw it, and indicated such by a wolf whistle.

"You're pretty cute yourself, beach bum," Celeste grinned. "In fact, I rather like your beach bum. And what those cut-offs do to it."

"I assure you, yours is ever so much nicer." He drew her into a hug, making sure he gave extra attention to the aforementioned part of her anatomy. She reciprocated, adding a kiss.

Ducky would have been more than happy to stay on and see where things would go, but Celeste pulled away, grabbed his hand and said, "Mud room." She pulled him through the kitchen and into a room with a washer and dryer, sink and several cupboards.

She opened one and pulled out several towels. "Here!" She tossed them to him. "And you'll need these." She grabbed a pair of rubberized sandals that Ducky remembered someone calling "flip-flops." Celeste grabbed a well-worn blanket, a pair of flip-flops for herself and opened the door.

The walkway led to a flight of stairs that descended to the beach. Celeste fairly flew down them. At the bottom it was sandy. Tufts of beach grass grew near the bank. Flat, smooth stones were scattered everywhere and became more prevalent closer to the water's edge. It was a rough beach, not soft and sandy and tropical, but more like the hardscrabble beaches in England. But very different. The surf was smaller, perhaps a bit friendlier than ocean waves. The water seemed bluer, the horizon a sapphire line that could be one mile or one hundred miles away. And Celeste seemed to belong here in the water and wind, her hair tied back in a rubber band.

She placed the blanket in a spot shaded somewhat from the late afternoon sun by the bank and the trees growing along it. It was relatively secluded by the stairway and a couple of large boulders, as well. Ducky smiled to himself. Celeste obviously knew the best place to stay away from prying eyes.

"You'll need the flip-flops if you're going in." Celeste slipped hers on. Ducky gave her a blank look. "Unless you like the feel of rocks under your bare feet. This used to be at the bottom of a glacier. There be rocks here. Lots and lots of them."

They made their way to the water's edge. Celeste took off her shoes. "Now you will see just how tough we Michiganders are, Doctor Mallard!" She waded in first, heedless of the rocks, and the water was soon up past her knees before Ducky even got his toes wet. The water was very cold.

"Gradual immersion works. Or you can plunge in if you want and get it over with quickly. Either way, it's colder than hell." She grinned, then fell backwards into a wave, then stood up with the water nearly up to her neck. "And be careful of the drop-off. It goes from five feet deep to over your head in a flash." She kicked back and floated off – clearly into deeper water.

Ducky entered the lake gradually. As he waded farther in, he noticed the bottom got less stony and a bit sandier. The water was almost numbing, though. Colder than the ocean, even on the coast of England. At least it seemed to be.

When the water reached the top of his cut offs he looked for Celeste. He saw her about twenty feet out – standing in water up to her waist! What?

She waved at him. "Come on, Doctor Wimpy! It's a sand bar. Swim out! It's nice here!"

Ducky walked forward a few steps – and lost the lake bottom. He went under the cold, slightly murky water at the drop-off. He popped up quickly, but he managed to inhale a bit and he came up coughing.

"Ducky? Are you all right?" Celeste sounded concerned and kicked off toward him.

"I'm fine, Love. Just caught by surprise, that's all," he sputtered. He felt a hand grasp his and Celeste began tugging him the few feet toward the sand bar. His feet scraped the soft, sandy underwater ridge and he stood up in water just up to his waist. He rubbed the water out of his eyes and blinked. He was surprised at how strong a swimmer Celeste was, but she would be, having grown up around the Lakes.

"I'm sorry." She waded over and hugged him. "I forget not everyone is used to open water swimming."

"I'm fine, Celeste. I know how to swim." He pushed a stray lock of hair away from her cheek and returned her embrace.

"When was the last time you did?"

"I don't remember. A year or two ago?"

"A year ago you were in Viet Nam. Two years ago you were pulling graveyard duty at St. Margaret Mercy emergency department. You had time to swim – when? Your exercise of choice has always been running. You probably haven't been swimming since medical school." She bit her lip, looking thoughtful. "I should never assume everyone is comfortable in the water."

"I'm none the worse for wear, Celeste." He kissed her ear. "Really." He drew her into another, deeper kiss that was returned very warmly, given the water temperature.

When they finally broke apart Celeste started a water fight that Ducky ultimately won with two huge splashes, one after the other. They swam and floated, enjoying the sand and relative calm of the water.

The sun was slanting lower in the west. "It's getting late, Celeste. Are you feeling a bit less dusty?"

She smiled. "Much less dusty, thank you." She headed in with a backstroke. "Come on. We can cook the steaks on the beach if you want."

As they headed toward shore, Ducky wasn't really thinking about food at all.

9


End file.
